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BELFORD COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 
18-22 East i8tii Street 
[Publishers of Bel ford's Magazine^ . 



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The Belford American Novel Series. Vol.ll. No. 5 - Annual Subscription, $1 5.00. Issued weekly. 
Entered at the New York Post Office as second class matter, June 30 1890. 








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WHAT PIERRE DID WITH 
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Copyright, 1890, 

By Belford Company. 




5 



1 -. 




WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL 


I. 

Doctor Davidoff turned his harsh and weather- 
beaten features toward Prince Patrizzi’s guests with an 
air of inspiration, and contributed these surprising words 
to the discussion : 

And do you people believe that a suggestion many 
times repeated has power to implant in your brain an 
idea that will pierce it with the penetrativeness and per- 
sistency of a gimlet ? Do you believe that this idea can 
so influence your spiritual being as to modify your physi- 
cal condition ? — for I suppose that you will admit that 
mind rules matter absolutely and positively?” 

“ Yes, we admit it,” the Neapolitan calmly answered. 
“ Now, and this is the very point that I want you to an 
swer, the conclusion must be. . . 

To this reply, which gave promise of an exhaustive 
argument upon the proposition laid down by the Russian 
doctor, there succeeded an instant of stupefied silence 
among the gay spendthrifts and complaisant women who 
had been dining in the parlor of the Hotel de Paris, on 
the terrace of Monte Carlo. Looks of astonishment and 
disgust were exchanged about the luxuriously spread 

5 


6 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


table, upon which the flowers were dying of suffocation 
amid the heat of the lamps and the smoke of cigarettes : 
then suddenly a storm of exclamations and invective 
arose from these devotees of fashion, in indignant pro- 
test at being torn from the customary inanity of their 
conversation and set down in the midst of a dry desert of 
scientific discussion. 

“ We’ve had enough physiology !” 

“ We’re here to drink, smoke, and laugh !” 

“ This isn’t a dissecting-room, it’s a private dining- 
room !” 

“ The doctor be hanged ! He’s paf T 

‘‘Please listen, gentlemen ; it is very interesting.” 

“You are boring these ladies to death !” 

“ Open the window; it stinks of science in here!” 

“ Oh dear! I wish I was at the Casino ! . . . I dreamed 
the red came out thirteen times.” 

“That’s an idea that the croupier palmed off on you.” 

“ Will you have a dance ?” 

“Oh, oh ! Laura, sit down on the piano!” 

“ Well, well, children, go wherever you choose, only 
let us have peace.” 

“ Don’t ask us to stay! No! There would be no use 
in trying to keep us!” 

. “ You are a polite .set !” 

Three or four women and five or six young men arose 
tumultuously, and called upon the head-waiter to bring 
their wraps, which that functionary did with much bustle. 
Patrizzi kept his seat, smiling on the pretty women, who 
shook out their skirts and smoothed down their waists 
with coquettish airs. He shook hands carelessly with 
his guests, and said : 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


7 


“ Let every one do as he pleases. Go along ; we will 
be with you in an hour.” Then turning to Pierre Lau- 
rier the artist, his friend Jacques de Vignes, and Doctor 
Davidoff, who had kept their places : “ Go on, my dear 



fellow,” he said to the physician ; “ you interest me im- 
mensely.” 

The Russian threw away his cigarette, lighted another 
one, and looking upon his three listeners with an air of 
authority, went on with the tale that had been cut short 
by the interruptions of the guests who had now departed. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


“ I confess that the story which I was beginning to tell 
our friends is quite a strange one, and that it is a little 
wanting in probability to those who are of a sceptical 
turn ; but in our dark and foggy Slavonian land, which 
seems to be really the proper abode of ghosts and phan- 
toms, it would not have elicited the first word of incredu- 
lity. Half of our compatriots are Swedenborgians with- 
out being aware of it, who admit the phenomena of the 
invisible world in company with the great philosopher, 
but without reasoning upon them ; and you might affirm 
in their presence, as I now do before you, the astounding 
fact of the transmission of a soul into a living body 
merely by an exertion of the will on the part of a person 
v/ho has made up his mind to die, and you would see 
them tremble and grow pale, but not utter a word of 
protest. In our country people believe that there are 
vampires who come forth from their grave when a ray of 
moonlight falls upon the stone ; they believe in appari- 
tions that reveal to one his approaching end. And so, 
just by the very fact that credence is given to these mira- 
cles, they are rendered possible of accomplishment. A 
powerful conviction is the most penetrating of fluids, and 
absolute confidence is the first condition demanded by 
spiritualism. If you doubt, its adepts will say to you, do 
not attempt to fathom our mysteries ; they will remain 
absolutely sealed to you. The world of the invisible is 
revealed only to those who have an ardent longing for 
knowledge of it; to the mocker and the incredulous it 
will remain forever a closed book.” 

Jacques de Vignes was here attacked by a painful fit of 
coughing, which turned his fine features quite pale ; he 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 9 

regained his breath with difficulty, and turning toward 
the doctor, as if animated by sorhe secret hope : 

“ And you say that you witnessed the occurrence,” said 
he in a choking voice; “you saw the young girl come 
back to life, regain health and strength, as if all her fiance’s 
vitality had passed into her being ?” 

“ I am not discussing the materiality of the fact,” David- 
off replied, “ I am simply giving you its psychological con- 
sequence. Vladimir Alexievitch, seeing Maria Fedorowna, 
whom he loved devotedly, dying by inches before his eyes, 
like a lamp of which the oil is burned out, having vainly 
applied to all the physicians of Moscow and having sum- 
moned me, me who am telling you this story, from St. 
Petersburg, only to hear from my lips the poor girl’s death- 
warrant, — had the idea of calling in an old Tungoose 
sorceress who had brought with her from Nijni-Novgo- 
rod the reputation of doing marvels. He went one night 
to consult her ; it was Christmas Eve. The old hag re- 
ceived him in a hovel in the outskirts of the city, and 
when she had gone through her terrible incantations for 
his benefit, she handed him a wooden cup containing a 
liquid of a peculiar odor. As ht was hesitating about 
drinking, she looked at him with a menacing countenance 
and said : ‘ You say that you love a woman, and want to 
save her life, even at the cost of your own, and yet you do 
not dare drink this unknown liquid, fearing that it may 

poison you O man, son of man, poor in spirit like all 

mankind. . . . Weep, then, and suffer like your brother 
men, since you cannot rise above humanity * ’ 

“ Then Vladimir Alexievitch was seized with shame ; he 
emptied at a single draught the repulsive cup, and seemed 
to succumb to a sudden intoxication. A delicious warmth 


lO 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH, HIS SOUL. 


ran through his body, and he became so light that it 
seemed as if he was about to rise from the earth and take 
wing. A luminous mist veiled his eyes, as if vivid rays 
were piercing the clouds and falling upon his vision. His 
blood ran bubbling through his veins, and his ears were 
greeted by celestial music. He had the sensation of being 
borne away into the immensity of space, and breezes of 
exquisite coolness came and kissed his brow. Little by 
little the knowledge of things earthly left him, and in the 
midst of a divine transport, a beatific ecstasy, he beheld 
advancing toward him, heavenly vision, a white, sublime 
form which, in a voice sweet and tender as an angel’s 
song, thus addressed him : 

“ ‘ Thou wishest to redeem the life of her whom thou 
lovest ? Then give thine own in change ; thy soul to her 
form, and thine own body to the cold grave. Thou shalt 
have nothing to regret, since thou wilt exist in her, and 
her happiness will be the source of thy joy.’ 

“ The heavenly apparition was lost in the luminous mist, 
and Vladimir Alexievitch was restored to consciousness. 
He found himself sitting in the hovel of the old Tungoose 
witch, beside a smoking fire of pitch-pine. The old wo- 
man was muttering unintelligible words, and seemed to 
pay no heed to her guest. Terrified by what he had 
witnessed, the young man endeavored to collect his 
thoughts and reason with himself upon his strange adven- 
ture. He saw before him only an ordinary old filthy hag, 
who had been the means of bringing him into communi- 
cation with the spirits, as the guardian of a temple opens 
the door of the sanctuary and admits one to the dazzling 
presence of the gods. He laid his hand upon the old 




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WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. II 

woman’s shoulder ; she turned her dull eyes upon him and 
said in her sardonic voice : 

“ ‘ Well, have you learned what you wished to know ? ’ 

“ ‘ What were the means that you employed to take from 
me my consciousness of the things of the outer world ? 
What was it that you made me drink ? ’ 

“ ‘ What matters it ? Did you behold the invisible 
ones ? ’ 

“ ‘ What was the sorcery that you used to show them to 
me ? ’ , 

‘ Ask it of themselves They are there, everywhere, 

around you ! Would you doubt ? Remain, then, hope- 
less. Put your trust in them, and supreme delights await 
you.’ 

“ The witch’s form dilated, her face was irradiated with 
a wild, scornful beauty, and pointing to the door, she said 
to Vladimir Alexievitch : 

“ ‘ Tempt not Heaven ! . . . Go ! and have faith . . . have 
faith ! ’ 

“ He threw his purse upon the ground, but the old wo- 
man spurned it from her with her foot. She raised her 
arms, as in a parting invocation, and with the bright flame 
of inspiration flashing from her face, she repeated, in tones 
that thrilled the heart of the young man : 

“ ‘ Have faith, poor child ! There lies the road of salva- 
tion. Have faith ! ’ 

“ He left her and went home. That night he spent in 
writing, and next morning, when they entered his apart- 
ment, he was dead.” 

“ And his fiancee, did she recover?” Pierre Laurier in- 
quired. 

“ She recovered,” replied Davidoff, “ but although she 


2 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


was a charming girl, and greatly beloved, she would marry 
none of her suitors, and remained a maid, as if faithful to 
some dear, mysterious love.” 

“ And 6.0 you believe this miracle, doctor?” Jacques de 
Vignes asked with an effort. 

Davidoff shook his head and answered lightly : 

“ There is not a great deal that doctors believe nowa- 
days. Materialism has many believers among my col- 
leagues ; still magnetism has of late assumed such strange 
aspects that fresh horizons have opened up before us, and 
we are largely attracted toward that spiritualism that 
maintains the existence of the soul ; and if we admit the 
influence of mental suggestion on those who are subjected 
to the hypnotic sleep, is not that a near approach to be- 
lief in a higher principle which directs, and consequently 
controls, matter ?” 

“You are philosophizing, dear sir,” the Prince inter- 
rupted ; “ you do not answer the question.” 

“ Oh! you^ Patrizzi,” said Pierre Laurier, with a laugh ; 
“ you believe in Saint January, and when the case becomes 
serious you invoke the Madonna ; you wear little horns 
of coral to protect you against the jettatura, and you grow 
pale when you see a knife and fork crossed on the table- 
cloth. It follows, therefore, that you are a fit subject for 
Davidoff ’s devilments ; but Jacques and I have a thicker 
epidermis, and it would require proof to convince us.” 

“ Still, it would be a comfortable thing to believe in, 
some mysterious influence that could restore us to life,” 
the sick man murmured. “ Oh, to have some supreme 
hope to anchor to ! It would be health and safety. Does 
not half the cure consist in confidence ?” 

“ I believe you !” exclaimed Pierre Laurier. “ Those 


f 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


13 


are the most sensible words that have been spoken in two 
hours. To the devil with your witches, your Sweden- 
borgians, your moonlight visions and your souls passing 
from body to body like a ferret in a rat-hole ! Give a 
sick man certain assurance that he will get well and you 
accomplish his cure at once . . . that is all there is about 
it ! Take my friend Jacques de Vignes here, for example, 
who made the doctor pack him off to the south because 
he caught cold ; make him understand that his illness is 
only imaginary, that there is nothing the matter with his 
lungs, that he has no reason in the world to be alarmed ; 
in a word, let him know that all that ails him is a trifling 
cough, and by removing the cause you remove the effect : 
Jacques de Vignes is at once forced to abandon his whis- 
pered tones, his languishing eyes, his Wertherian looks. 
He returns to life and pretty women ; to his beef-steak 
and his cigar.” 

“Alas!” murmured Jacques, who was just then con- 
vulsed by a severe attack of coughing, “ how I wish that 
there was room for hope ! I am attached to life, and 
every day I feel that it is slipping away from me little by 
little.” 

The painter laid his hand upon the sick man’s shoulder 
and said to him in a cheerful tone : 

“You won’t believe me when I tell you that you are 
not seriously ill; you won’t believe Davidoff, who has made 
a thorough examination of you. You insist on retaining 
this brooding care and scourging yourself with it, as if it 
were a pleasure to you. You are grieving your mother, 
and you bring tears to your sister’s eyes. . . . Will noth- 
ing convince you, then? Must I do for you what Vladi- 
mir Alexievitch did and hand you over a soul in ex- 


14 WHAT'PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

change for yours? I have only my own to dispose of, 
you know, and it does not amount to much ; even if I 
should give it to you some night in a fit of spleen, I don’t 
know that I should be making a very desirable gift. They 
say, however, that we must not look a gift-horse in the 
mouth, and the main thing is that you should live, you 
who have everything to make you happy, who are loved, 
who would be wept ; while as for me, I might as well go 
out now and jump from the terrace of the Casino into the 
sea. . . . Who would ever miss that madcap called Pierre 
Laurier, that painter who is impotent to grasp his ideal, 
that gamester for whom the cards no longer produce an 
emotion, that lover spurned by his mistress, that high- 
liver to whom life is a burthen !” He brought down his 
fist with a violence that shook the table and continued, 
his features working with bitter emotion, his lips writhing 
with a cruel smile : “ I am an ass to start in afresh every 

morning on a life that I curse every night ... to the devil 
with it ! . . . Jacques, will you have rny soul ?” 

“ Come, come,” gently said Jacques, ‘'you have been 
having another quarrel with Cl^mence Villa to-day. Leave 
her, my poor friend, if she causes you such suffering.” 

“ How can I ?” said Pierre, who had turned very pale, 
resting his heavy head upon his hand. 

“ Give her a good beating, then,” calmly observed 
Patrizzi. 

“ If I only dared !” said the young man, with flashing 
eyes. “ But that girl makes me a slave ; everything that 
she wants she makes me do. I bear everything from her, 
whims, vices, deceit. At times I feel like murdering 
her. . . and it is upon myself that the blow would fall . . . 
to relieve myself of her tyranny. Oh, I am a poor-spirited 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


15 


coward ! I know that she is false to me with every one 
in the Hotel des Etrangers. . . Only the other day I 
caught her with a ridiculous Italian baritone. She is 
ruining me ; she is bringing me down into the dust ; she 
is making me something lower than she is herself. . .And 
I have not strength to break my chains ! Truly I am a 
wretched man !” 

“ No, you are not wretched,” said the doctor, “ you are 
ill. Let us go out ; it is stifling here.” 

“ It is ten o’clock,” remarked Jacques de Vignes. “ My 
carriage must be waiting. I will return to Villefranche.” 

“Wrap yourself up well,” said the Prince, “for the 
night is cool.” 

The painter assisted his friend to put on his overcoat 
and wrapped a plaid about him ; then at the foot of the 
staircase, in a voice that still quivered with pain, he said 
to him : 

“ Good-night, and remember — you may count upon my 
soul.” 

Doctor Davidoff saw Jacques de Vignes to his carriage, 
closed the door, and told the driver to go ahead ; then 
having listened for a moment to the noise of the wheels 
as they rolled away over the creaking sand of the drive, 
he came slowly toward the painter, who stood watching 
the stars and waiting for him. 

“ Shall we go to the Casino?” asked Patrizzi. 

“ What is the use ? It is such a fine evening, suppose 
we walk a bit.” 

“ In which direction are you going?” 

“Toward Mentone.” 

“ And you will stop about half a mile from here, at a 
villa where the gate is overhung with roses in bloom ?” 


i6 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


“ Yes.” 

“ And you will come out directly afterward in a rage 
with yourself and every one else. . . Take my advice : 
don’t go to that girl’s.” 

“ Where should I go, then ? If I follow your advice 
and return to my hotel, up there in the solitude of my 
room my thoughts will turn exclusively upon her whom 
you 'tell me to avoid. She has me in her clutches, don’t 
you see ? and the ties which bind me to her are strong, 
since for all my desperate struggles they still remain un- 
broken. After every effort I fall back, weaker, more 
badly hurt, more hopelessly a captive. And I despise 
myself and I hate her !” 

“And yet it is easy enough to leave a woman !” said 
the Neapolitan with a smile. “ Unfortunately we don’t 
know it until afterward. There has to be a beginning, in 
the first place. . . . But it is an easy matter to philosophize 
to those who are in trouble. Good-night, gentlemen ; I 
am going in to break the bank.” 

He lighted a cigarette and strolled away. Davidoff 
and Pierre Laurier continued their walk among the gar- 
dens that lay bathed in moonlight. The perfumed still- 
ness of the night surrounded them. They left the streets 
of the city behind them, and to their right, at the base of 
the cliffs that indent the coast, they saw the sea, bright as 
a sheet of silver. The night was so clear that they could 
see the red lights of the vessels as they lay at anchor in 
the distant roadstead. Silently they walked along their 
elevated path. When they came to a little thicket of 
cactus and lentiscus they paused for a moment to let 
their eyes wander over the scene, oppressed, as it were, by 
its immensity. A sudden noise, like that of an' animal 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 / 

stirring in the underbrush, attracted their attention, and 
presently they saw, coming up the steep path that ran 
along the hillside, a man whose musket glittered in the 
moonlight. 

“ What is that ?” Davidoff asked in surprise. 


Pierre Laurier looked attentively and replied : 

“ It is a coast-guardsman.’’ 

They stood still. The man continued to ascend. When 
he reached the level ground he looked distrustfully at the 
two pedestrians. Although it was barely a mile and a 
quarter from the last houses of the city, the spot was a 


1 8 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

lonely one ; but all that coast is wild and well adapted to 
the smuggler’s trade. 

“ Do you take us for dealers in contraband ?” the painter 
demanded. 

“ No, monsieur,” replied the soldier, “not now that 1 
see you close at hand ; but as I looked up from below, 
seeing you standing there motionless, I thought that you 
might have come to give some signal.” 

“ Are the rascals at work again ?” 

“ Oh, always ! There is more smuggling done between 
Monaco and Vintimille than anywhere else ; there is not 
a \veek passes without their making a descent some- 
where. . . . We have been watching a vessel that has 
been lying off and on for the last four days, waiting for 
a chance to slip in, . . . but the rascals will have to pay 
for the nights that they have kept us out of our beds, and 
if they persist in landing, they will be welcomed with 
musket-shots. Good-evening, messieurs ; . . . don’t remain 
there . . . the place is dangerous.” 

He carried his hand to his kepi in military style and 
disappeared among the undergrowth that served to cover 
his place of observation. Pierre Laurier and Davidoff 
resumed their walk, turning back in the direction of the 
city. 

“ I envy the stirring life of the men who are the objects 
of the threats of that good exciseman,” said Pierre. 
“ They are now roaming over the sea, watchful and cir- 
cumspect, ready either for a trade or a fight. Their goods 
once landed, off they will go again on another expedition 
with its unknown perils. All that they think of is their 

toilsome and uncertain occupation I wish that I was 

among them.” 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 9 

“ Go away, if you wish to. Count Woreseff, on whose 
yacht I am a guest, leaves Villefranche day after to- 
morrow. He is going to Egypt ; we shall touch at Alex- 
andria and then go up the Nile as far as the second 
cataract ; we shall see Thebes, the desert, the pyramids. 
It is a two months’ trip, with the timbers of a fine boat 
under your feet and the splendor of an Eastern sky over 
your head. You know how glad the Count will be to 
have you with him .... You can paint, you can shoot, 
and, above all, you can forget !” 

“No, life would be made too easy; I should be too 
pampered, too happy with you. There would be no dan- 
gers to distract my mind, no hard work to tire my body ; 
all my surroundings would be too civilized. What I need 
is a wild life ; if you would only promise to have me taken 
prisoner by the Tovariks and led away captive to Tim- 
buctoo, I might go with you. Something like that would 
be my salvation.” 

“ I cannot promise you any such adventures as those,” 
said Davidoff with a smile, “so I suppose I shall have 
to leave you to your devices.” 

They had reached a very handsome villa, painted pink, 
the brilliantly lighted windows of which shone out through 
dense masses of verdure. 

“ Your mind is made up, then ; you are bound to go 
in ?” the doctor asked. “ I may not see you to-morrow, 
so adieu, and good luck to you.” 

They shook hands, and as the Russian started to return 
to the city, the painter passed through the garden. He 
rang the bell ; a footman opened the door and showed 
him into a vestibule fashioned after an Arab patio, the 
centre of w.hich was' adorned with a basin in which gold- 


20 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 



fish were swimming about, the metallic lustre of their 
scales contrasting with the dark blue walls of their prison. 
Climbing roses twined about the columns that supported 
and beautified the hall, and at the farther end a staircase 
of white marble conducted to the first story. 

“ Madame is within?” Pierre Laurier inquired. 

“ In the small drawing-room,” the servant replied. 

The young man opened the door noiselessly and ad- 


vanced into the room. Cl^mence Villa was lying on a 
great sofa in a nest of silken cushions, turning the leaves 
of a book. She raised her head, wearily stretched her 
arms, and retained her position. Pierre drew near, and 
bending over the delicate face of the pretty girl, gave her 
a kiss between the eyes. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


2 


“ How late you are!” said the actress, with a calm in- 
difference that contrasted with the implied reproach of 
her speech. 

“ Prince Patrizzi’s dinner lasted longer than I thought 
it would. ...” 

“Was it a pleasant party?” 

“ Not so much so as if you had been there.” 

“ I can’t endure that Patrizzi.” 

“Why?” 

“ I know that he dislikes me.” 

“ No, he does not dislike you ; but he is very fond of 
me.” 

“Well? Can’t he like you without hating me?” 

“ He would like you if you did not make me so un- 
happy.” 

“Ah, the everlasting song!” The young woman 
snapped her fingers^ sent her book flying to the other end 
of the room and flung herself over on the sofa with a 
peevish movement, turning her face to the wall. 

“ Come, Cl^mence, don’t let’s quarrel,” said the painter ; 
“ we will talk of something else.” 

But the actress, without stirring or lifting her face from 
her cushions, acrimoniously replied : “ That Patrizzi of 
yours, you must know, has been pestering me with his at- 
tentions just like the rest of them, and it is because I 
would have nothing to do with him that he has taken a 
spite against me.” 

Laurier’s face grew dark, and he said with irony : 
“ Why did you make such an invidious exception in his 
case ?” 

At a single bound Cl^mence Villa was on her feet, and, 
blazing with anger, her eyes flashing beneath their frown- 


22 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


ing brows, pointing to the door with her shaking hand, 
she screamed : “ My little man, if you think you can come 
here with your insolence, you may make yourself scarce !” 

“ I know that you do not care for me any longer ; you 
do not take any pains to conceal it from me,” said the 
painter, with an air of despondency. 

“ What do you stay here for, then ? If you only ex- 
erted yourself a little to make yourself agreeable, I could 
understand your obstinacy; but you spend your time in 
vilifying me to your friends or in insulting me to my 
face in my own house, . . . and all because I will not submit 
to your whims, and make myself a prisoner and never see 

any one but you What a delightful prospect !. .. In a 

single word, you are an ingrate. To please you I left 
Selim Nuflo, who was as good to me as could be and 
put up with all my caprices. I was very fond of you, . . . 
oh ! you know it well enough ! . . . for before this crazy fit 
came on you, you were an agreeable, nice fellow, ... but 
here for the last three months you have been losing your 
head altogether, . . . and so, good-day ! It is hot in my 
line to care for lunatics ; go to an asylum.” 

She had posted herself with her back to the fire-place 
as she spoke, and the amber-like brilliancy of her flesh 
stood out against the red of her plush dressing-gown like 
ivory. Her small, curly head, upborne by a neck that 
was rather long, was exquisitely formed, and her bust, 
emerging from the opening of her dress in a setting of 
costly old lace, had the proud firmness of youth. 

Pierre approached with hesitating steps, and seating 
himself upon a stool almost at the young woman’s feet, 
said : 


WHAT P TERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 23 

“ Forgive me; I am in torture, for I love you, and I 
am jealous.” 

She gave him an ugly look, and replied in freezing 
tones: 

“ So much the worse ! for I have made up my mind 
that I will endure your brutality and distrust no longer. 
I have had all that I could do for weeks and weeks to 
keep myself from telling you so, and now this settles it. 
It is done, done, done! You need not trouble yourself 
to come here any more.” 

The painter’s face paled slightly. “You mean that for 
a dismissal ?” 

“ Yes, I mean it for a dismissal.” 

He was silent for a moment, as if hesitating to give ex- 
pression to all his thought; then, almost in a whisper, 
fearing and foreboding the cruel answer that was await- 
ing him, he asked : 

“ Is it because you love some one else ?” 

“What business is that of yours? I do not love you 
any longer; that is all that concerns you.” 

The young man’s face flushed, and his hands shook 
nervously. He gnawed his mustache, and smiled with 
affected indifference. 

“ Tell me at least if I am to have a worthy successor ? 
A man has a little pride under such circumstances . . . !” 

“ You need not be alarmed,” Cl^mence angrily inter- 
rupted. “ I shall not be a loser by the change. He is 
young, he is rich, he is handsome, — and I have had my 
eye on him this long time. . . . You know him, too ; he is 
one of your friends.” 

While the artist, stupefied by such effrontery, was ask- 
ing himself whether he was awake or dreaming, the 


24 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 



young woman went on with calculating cruelty, distilling 
her words slowly into his ear as if they had been drops 
of mortal poison. 


“You left him but a little while, ago ; he dined with 
you this evening.” 

“ Davidoff?” cried Pierre. 

“ You fool !” sneered Clemence. “ What, that cynic of 
a Russian who despises women and would drive them 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


25 


with the knout ? Do you think that I have taken leave 
of my senses? No ; the man who has caught my fancy is 
a splendid young fellow, gentle and melancholy, and ail- 
ing a little ; but he believes in love, and will give himself 
up entirely to it.” 

At these words Pierre made a bound, and seizing the 
actress by the wrists, notwithstanding the resistance that 
she offered, caused her to bend like a reed. For an in- 
stant their faces were close together, their looks inter- 
mingled, and so they remained for the space of a few 
seconds, breathing forth rage and hate. At last the 
painter said in a trembling voice : 

“ It was Jacques de Vignes that you meant when you 
spoke just now?” 

“ It was he.” 

“ Do you know that he is dangerously ill with con- 
sumption ?” 

I am glad that it is so ... I will nurse him. I have al- 
ways wished for a pure love.” 

“ You made up that story to torture me, did you not ? 
Come, tell me ; is there a single word of truth in the 
whole of it ?” 

“ You will see !” 

“ Clemence, be careful !” 

The young woman’s eyes flashed angrily, and she 
moved toward the bell, but so hurriedly that her feet be- 
came entangled in the folds of her long skirts. This af- 
forded Pierre time to grasp her by the arm. 

“ You threaten me in my own house ! ” she screamed ; 
“ well, I will have that Jacques of yours. . .yes, I will have 
him, if it is only to spite you ! ” 

The painter, with a movement of disgust, pushed her 


26 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 


from him so violently that she reeled and fell backward 
upon the divan. He took his hat, and said, in a thick 
voice : 

“ You miserable creature ! After what has passed, I 
would die sooner than be friends with you again. Go on . . . 



continue in your vile life ! It matters not to me. I will 
never look upon your face again ! ” 

He opened the door with his clenched fist, as if he 
would make inanimate things the object of that rage 
which he could not vent on flesh and blood, and with rapid 
steps went forth into the garden. Behind him he heard 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


27 


the clatter of the electric bell beneath the pressure of an- 
gry fingers, the footsteps of the servant hurrying over the 
tiled floor of the vestibule and the stormy voice of Cle- 
mence screaming her orders. He hurried on so as not to 
hear them further. He was seized and carried away by 
an exasperation that made him feel like killing some one ; 
he had fled that he might not yield to the temptation of 
striking Clemence ; and now, in the open air, beneath the 
star-lit sky, in the midst of the dark night that brought 
him a comforting sensation, invigorated by the cool sea- 
breeze that was blowing through the orange trees in 
bloom, a great sentiment of shame began to take posses- 
sion of his mind. Could it be possible that during the 
last year he had committed, for the sake of that creature, 
all the wretched follies that now came crowding back 
upon his memory ; that he had passively submitted to hu- 
miliations of which he now keenly felt all the bitterness } 
In order to keep Clemence in luxury he had spent all that 
he had, and then run in debt to his friends. He had frit- 
tered away his talent in senseless pleasure until it had re- 
fused to be further productive, and he had spent whole 
days at a time in his studio, dreaming over pictures 
that he could not summon up resolution to commence : 
long, despairing hours, passed in doubt and anxiety, in 
asking himself whether the creative faculty was not dead 
within him, and if ever in his life he should be able to 
set to work again like a man. And this, all for that vile 
creature who had deceived him ! He was really too big 
a fool ; she was right in despising him, and it was a lucky 
chance for him that had induced her to give him his free- 
dom. 

Now he felt that he. was again master of his destiny. 


28 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


He was rescued from the ghoul who had been stealing 
away his brain at the same time that she wrung his heart- 
strings. He would be himself again ; his works should 
falsify the report, that was beginning to be current, that 
his talent was drying up. 

Yes, yes ! She shall see what I will accomplish now 
that I am no longer burthened with her ! Before a month 
is over she shall regret me, in her vanity at least, if not in 
her love !” 

Revolving these thoughts in his mind, he walked along 
the road that skirts the sea toward Vintimille. The lights 
af Monaco were behind him, lost in the darkness, and he 
was alone at the base of an overhanging cliff. At his feet 
the beach stretched away on either hand, and the waves 
were breaking with a monotonous sound upon the rocks. 
The moon was now and then concealed by floating clouds, 
and the view was shrouded in obscurity. Pierre seated 
himself upon a sand-hill at the side of the road and sur- 
rendered himself to his reflections. 

His coolness was beginning to return to him, his rage 
had subsided, and he was able to estimate his position more 
clearly. The resolutions that he had formed for the future 
were excellent, but would he have strength enough to 
carry them into execution ? He knew what he had to 
look for from his weakness. Ten times already he had 
sworn that he would leave her who had thus brought ruin 
to his life, and each time he had returned to her more 
tamely, only, of course, to be treated with greater scorn, 
but enduring everything that he might receive from her 
one caress. It was a strange infatuation, which, reducing 
him to this bondage of love, left him clear-headed enough 
to read the character of her who thus held him in her 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 29 



power, and not brave enough to break the chain that 
bound him to his degrading thraldom. 

He said to himself : “ After having promised myself so 


faithfully that I will never return to her, can it be that I 
shall be such a cur as to present myself there to-morrow ?” 
and in the silence of the night he answered aloud : “ No!” 


30 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


but as if to brave him, Clemence’s little brown head ap- 
peared before him, with its bright and fascinating eyes. 
He beheld it distinctly, smiling upon him as in bravado, 
and it seemed to him that he could read upon its lips 
the very words that he had so many times heard them 
utter. 

“ What ! You leave me ! You could never have the 
courage ! I might dismiss you, but you would return in 
spite of everything, like a dog that is beaten but remains 
faithful still. Could you live without me ? Am I not 
indispensable to your existence ? Was it not I that af- 
forded you sensations that you never knew before ? I 
have become part of your flesh, your blood, the very mar- 
row of your bones. There is no woman that can fill my 
place ; after me the world is void and empty, and you 
would find there only ennui, disgust, weariness, and sorrow. 
Come back, then ! Do not affect a useless pride ! I drove 
you from my door to-night, but to-morrow I await you. 
These are but the quarrels of lovers, who beat each other 
and then embrace again, only made more passionate by 
their momentary difference, their love inflamed by resist- 
ance, like tigers that tear each other while they caress, 
mingling pain and pleasure. . Were you to return at this 
moment, perhaps you would find my anger gone ; perhaps 
you would find me alone, awaiting you, more fond than 
ever. What keeps you ? A feeling of false pride } What 
is the effort that is required to vanquish a scruple of self- 
respect, when compared with the delights which I reserve 
for you and which you know so well ?” 

The sorceress evoked by his fevered imagination smiled 
upon him and beckoned him seductively with her white 
arms. He beheld her distinctly in her brilliantly lighted 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 3 1 

chamber ; his heart beat so violently as to take away his 
breath, and giving a deep sigh, he arose to go to her. 

A breath of cool wind came and caressed his forehead 
and awoke him from his dream ; he saw himself at the 
foot of the cliff, with the sea before him, far from the city, 
and the image of the woman who so possessed his being 
faded away in the deep transparency of the sky. He 
shuddered at the thought that he was still so completely 
her slave. Had he been near the villa, instead of far 
away in the open country, he would instantaneously 
have been at her feet, without allowing himself time to 
reflect or collect himself. A feeling of rage took posses- 
sion of him. It spoke the truth, then, that apparition 
which a moment before had defied him to break his fet- 
ters. What could he do not to fall again into the clutches 
of that fatal mistress? Would distance be sufficient to 
separate him from her ? And who should say that in 
some moment of madness he would not arise and go to 
her again ? Sane, in full possession of his faculties, armed 
with all the detestation of her that had risen fervid in his 
mind, he dared not ask himself the question for fear of 
being obliged to confess to himself that there was noth- 
ing that could restrain him. 

He was possessed by a feeling of deepest discourage- 
ment and despair ; he saw how unworthy his life had been, 
how base his conduct, how ignominious his weak irresolu- 
tion. She had deceived him ; he was aware of it, and yet 
had not sufficient pride to keep him from going to her. 
And then what griefs, what sorrows must he look forward 
to in that life which could only become more unendur- 
able in proportion as he showed himself more weak ! And 
what would be the end of it all? An ignobl: death in 


32 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


some wild fit of jealousy ; a senseless, degrading suicide, 
which would appear among the gossip of the newspapers, 
afflicting those of his friends who had remained faithful 
to him to the last. Was it not better to end it then and 
there, beneath the deep heavens, before the peaceful sea, 
while he felt himself still worthy of having sincere tears 
shed in his behalf? 

He stood dreaming in the tranquil moonlight, among 
the odorous herbage, and gradually his thoughts turned 
from the bad woman. 

It was now a peaceful, smiling home, concealed among 
masses of verdure, the abode of a family united in bonds 
of love, that rose upon his memory, — the home of his 
friend Jacques de Vignes, where he lived with his mother 
and sister. Life would assuredly have been full of charm 
to them had not fell disease fallen threatening upon this 
great good-looking fellow who had such a passionate 
yearning for life. What was wanting to make them happy ? 
Health, for the son and the brother that they loved 
so fondly ; health alone. But, O irony of destiny ! day 
by day Jacques hung his head, weaker, more melancholy, 
as if drawing closer to that earth within whose bosom he 
was soon to disappear. And that one was in despair, while 
he would have so readily surrendered up his life at that 
moment when, utterly wearied and disgusted, he counted 
it of so little worth. If he could but make a bargain with 
his friend and bestow upon him his excess of strength, 
would it not be the salvation of the sad-faced, mournful 
young man whom he loved so tenderly? 

Just at this moment Doctor Davidoff’s story recurred 
to his iTiemory, and his lips contracted in a bitter smile. 
Supposing that this mysterious resurrection were possible. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


33 


that the charm would really work and that it might be 
granted him to transfer his own miserable, tortured soul 
to the wasting form of the beloved being whose vital 
energy was so surely ebbing away, would it not be a 
blessed miracle? 

Suddenly a melancholy reflection caused his head to 
sink upon his breast. He thought : “ She told me that 
she loved him. If I became identified with his being, 
would I not then be loved by her? Her beauty and her 
grace would be for my delighted enjoyment ; mine would 
be all her smiles and all her kisses.” He shuddered. For 
so long time tenderness had been absent from the caresses 
of her whom he worshipped still, as he had to acknowl- 
edge now, and whom he could not make up his mind to 
leave ! 

Standing solitary in the night among the rocks, front- 
ing the immensity of sky and sea, he stretched his will- 
force to its utmost tension in a supreme invocation. He 
appealed to all invisible powers. “ If they exist,” he said 
to himself, “ if, as is declared to be true, there are hover- 
ing in the air around us, impalpable as it, mysterious 
beings, let them reveal themselves to me by signs that I 
may understand and I am ready to yield obedience to 
them. I surrender myself to them by the sacrifice of my 
own being. Standing here, a thing of flesh and bl^od, I 
return to immateriality and I forsake my being with 
delight to be no more, and consequently no more to suf- 
fer, groan, and weep. Let them speak, in the voice of the 
breeze, in the murmur of the waves, in the rustling of the 
plants, and to go to meet them I pass the gates of death.” 

He had no more than finished his incantation than he 
shivered, frightened by his loneliness. He looked fear- 


34 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


fully about him. No soul was stirring on the cliff, there 
was not a sail upon the sea, and before him stretched the 
boundless sky. Suddenly the moon shone out from a rift 
in the clouds, and in the belt of light it seemed to Pierre 
that white spectres were passing to and fro. He cast his 
eyes downward upon the sheet of water that lay before 
him, and will-o’-the-wisps appeared to him, flitting among 
the rocks. They danced about, hither, thither, nimble, 
brilliant, now vanishing to appear again, like the souls of 
shipwrecked mariners condemned to roam to all eternity 
about the breakers among which the bones that they had 
inhabited had perished. 

Pierre was fascinated and could not turn his looks from 
the shadowy phantoms, the elusive lights, and a kind of 
torpor took possession of him. A murmuring filled his 
ears, and the sounds that were confused and indistinct at 
first became defined, singing : “ Come with us, where suf- 
fering is no more. Die, to live again incarnate in the 
creature of thy choice. Come, O come with us !” 

Pierre made an effort to shake off this hallucination, 
but it was fruitless. He was dazed, incapable of motion, 
as if he were in a cataleptic state. His gaze was lost in 
the illimitable stretch of sea and sky, and the supernatural 
voices kept ringing in his ears, — “ Come, O come with 
us!”^ He reflected: “The revelation that I sought has 
been granted me ; the spirits have manifested themselves. 
I believe in them, I will obey them ; but let them cease 
from haunting me.” 

As if he had given utterance to a magical formula, the 
vision disappeared, the voices were silent. He arose and 
walked upon the deserted shore ; he might have believed 
that it was all a dream. But he did not so believe. With 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


35 


a strange longing he dwelt upon the mystery that had 
been shown to him. He wished that it might prove real ; 
he saw in it the wished-for end of all his woes. 

He climbed to the summit of the slope, stopped, took 
out his pocket-book and wrote these words on a card : 

“ My dear Jacques, I am useless to others, noxious to 
myself. I mean to change this state of affairs. I am 
about to make in my person another trial of the experience 
that Davidoff told us of. You are the dearest one to me 
in all the world ; to you I bequeath my soul. Live, and 
be happy, through me and for my sake.” 

He signed the note, and taking off his hat, inserted the 
folded paper between it and its silken band. He*calmly 
removed his overcoat, placed it, together with his hat, at 
the side of the road, and slowly descended again toward 
the shore. The coast was indented at this spot, forming 
a little bay, at the end of which the waves came up and 
died away with a gentle murmur. A path, running up- 
ward along the side of the cliff, led to a little collection of 
fishermen’s huts. Pierre’s attention was soon attracted 
by a vessel that was slowly approaching, impelled by a 
belated breeze that filled its close-reefed sail. She seemed 
to be without a crew, but as she drew ahead and ap- 
proached the shore, sailors showed themselves at bow and 
stern. At the same time men came forth from behind 
the rocks, and, entering the water, waded out toward the 
craft. The stern was heaped with bales and casks. 

The painter, whose interest was aroused despite the 
trouble of his mind, rightly concluded that they were the 
smugglers of whose probable coming the coast-guard had 
told him. He instinctively turned to look for the man 
among the undergrowth where he had sheltered himself, 


36 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


but he had doubtless left his post, for there was no sign 
of movement upon the cliff. The men from the rocks had 
mingled with those of the vessel, and trips back and forth 
had begun to be made ; some of the merchandise had 
already been landed, when suddenly their operations were 



disturbed by a shrill whistle from the heights above. The 
landsmen fled over the sandy beach, the sailors hurriedly 
prepared to secure their offing. At the same moment a 
musket-shot echoed through the silence, and the rocks 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


37 


were illuminated by the red flash. It was the revenue 
guard announcing his presence. Another report followed 
from a near-by point, and shadows began to be seen run- 
ning about upon the cliff-side. 

The fishermen climbed up the pathway with their bales 
and the smugglers shoved their craft off into deep water. 
While this was going on, a sailor fell overboard. Shouts 
were heard. They came from the coast-guardsmen, who 
were uniting their forces. The vessel was standing off, 
and the sailor whom she was leaving behind her in the 
water was shouting at the top of his voice. His struggles 
.were becoming wilder and his voice was growing weaker. 
Pierre was touched by the heart-rending cries of this fel- 
low-creature ; a moment before he had only thought of 
dying, now the instinct of preservation was strong within 
him. He rushed toward the water’s brink, leaping from 
rock to rock, barely missed receiving several bullets on his 
way, reached the shore in safety, and, plunging into the 
sea, swam with vigorous strokes toward the drowning man. 

When a fev/ hundred feet off shore, the vessel had come 
up in the wind and stopped. The smugglers had disap- 
peared among the thickets of the hillside, and over the 
sea that lay there bright and smooth as a mirror the 
moon was pouring her cold, calm light. 


IL 


On the delightful shore road that runs from Monaco 
to Nice, a little beyond Eze and this side of Villefranche, 


on the bank of a small bay that is formed by an indenta- 
tion in the cliff, there is a pink-and-white villa, the terraces 
of which, verdant with orange trees and mimosas, are 

38 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


39 


laved by the blue waters of the gulf. Pines, red-trunked 
and widely branching, junipers, dark blue of hue, and 
black thujas grow upon the slopes among the heather, 
where they can find a foothold among the rocks, en. 
framing in a setting of wild forest this isolated, peaceful, 
silent valley. A little haven, protected by a natural jetty 
of rocks, on which the tide breaks in clouds of foam, 
affords anchorage-ground for two pleasure-boats that rest 
idly upon the calm and transparent water, to which the 
various marine growths impart in spots a hue of emerald 
green. The red earth absorbs the sunlight and warms 
the atmosphere of this sheltered nook, where all day long 
there reigns a hot-house temperature ; at evening the air 
is cool and loaded with exquisite perfumes from the trees 
green with sempiternal foliage and the plants bright with 
blooms that are ceaselessly renewed. Little fishing-boats, 
coming from Beaulieu and making for Monaco, cruise 
slowly in the offing and serve, by their lazy movements, 
to impart a little animation to the horizon. The railroad 
that runs along the hillside behind the villa is the only 
thing that disturbs, by the roar of passing trains, the 
cheerful quietude of this peaceful spot. Here it was that 
Mme. de Vignes had come with her son and daughter, two 
months ago, to take up her abode away from the bustle of 
Parisian life, in the sweet and health-giving reposefulness 
of this enchanted region. 

Left a widow at thirty, after a life which the pranks of 
a rakish husband had served to render a stormy one, 
Mme. de Vignes had devoted all her great intelligence 
and loving tenderness to the education of her children. 
Jacques, a tall, handsome, blond young man, of passionate 
nature and ardent character, had early shown that he in- 


40 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


herited his father’s disposition, notwithstanding the good 
advice that was administered to him in large quantities 
everyday. His sister Juliette, four years younger than 
he, by a happy contrast seemed to resemble her mother 
in her serious gravity of character, so that if the widow 
was to look forward to receiving many anxieties at the 
hands of one, she might equally expect to find her con- 
solation in the other. And so Mme. de Vignes had lived 
a life of comparative tranquillity, with these so essentially 
different natures at her side, until she had reached the 
age of forty. Jacques, who was extremely intelligent 
and not lazier than the common run, had brought his 
studies to a brilliant close. His health had been delicate 
during his early days, but had improved with advancing 
years, and when he had come to his majority his lofty 
stature, his light mustaches, and his blue eyes made him as 
good-looking a young fellow as you would be apt to meet 
in the course of a long summer day. This was a fact 
that he was quite well aware of, and he had not been 
slow to take advantage of it. 

As soon as he came into possession of his father’s for- 
tune, he cast off his leading-strings, and installing himself 
in elegant bachelor’s quarters, proceeded to lead a gay 
life. He came back to the nest, however, now and again 
to ask his mother for a bit of dinner, and on such occa- 
sions he was frequently accompanied by one of the friends 
of his boyish days, Pierre Laurier the painter. These were 
always red-letter evenings at the house, and Juliette lav- 
ished her most loving attentions upon her brother and 
her most dulcet smiles upon the friend who,- whether cor- 
rectly or the reverse, she imagined to have counted some- 
thing in bringing about these returns of the prodigal son. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 4 1 

Thanks to the painter’s brightness and originality, the 
evening would pass away gayly, and as the hours slipped 
swiftly by, the young girl — for Mile, de Vignes was then 
only fourteen years old — would sit and gaze upon the 
young man in a sort of ecstatic bliss. 

For a long time she had looked with fear upon Pierre 
Laurier, with his expressive and intelligent features, his 
piercing eyes, his sarcastic mouth, and his polished brow, 
but she had quickly come to recognize that the oddity of 
his humor was only due to his artistic preoccupations 
and that his mocking tones only served as a mask to con- 
ceal the confiding goodness of his heart. Amid his fan- 
tastic discourse she could very well distinguish that pro- 
found love of his art which entirely engrossed him, and 
in his fiery tirades was manifest to her his unconquerable 
passion for the beautiful and the good. With remarkable 
penetration, she had discovered that the painter was 
using all his efforts to check Jacques in his ways of dis- 
sipation and that his influence could not be otherwise 
than beneficent. This had served to increase her love for 
him. He was on brotherly terms with the child, conceal- 
ing, for her sake, the bitterness of his scepticism and be- 
coming playful and innocent in order to bring himself 
more nearly to her level. 

In this he showed but small discernment, for Juliette, 
with precocious understanding, was quite in position to 
see through him, but Pierre obstinately refused to see any- 
thing more in her than the hoydenish girl of her years, 
and it was always with the greatest astonishment that 
when, putting aside her natural timidity, she ventured to 
give utterance to a few sentences, he heard opinions of 
singular good sense fall from her lips. He did not give 


42 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


her the credit which was her due ; he merely said to 
himself : “ This is really a surprising child ; she remem- 
bers what she hears and brings it in apropos to the occa- 
sion. Every woman is part monkey to imitate and part 
parrot to repeat !” 

Still, if it was true that Juliette possessed faculties of 
assimilation in matters of art, she was entirely natural in 
the tender effusion of thanks that she addressed to Lau- 
rier for the protection that he extended to her brother. 
In that there was no imitation, no repetition. It was the 
heart of the child that spoke, and the painter, absorbed 
as he was by thoughts and cares to which Mile, de Vignes 
was an entire stranger, could not fail to be struck by this 
emotion and this gratitude. 

A trifling incident had occurred, however, of which 
he alone grasped the true significance and which had 
completely opened his eyes. On St. Juliette’s day he 
had always been accustomed to bring a name-day gift to 
this child whom he had known ever since she was born. 
As long as she was a little girl, these gifts had been dolls, 
extravagantly attired in the most magnificent dresses 
made according to the painter’s taste and cut from his 
design, just as if they were to serve as models for one of 
his pictures. Exclamations of surprise and cries of joy 
greeted him every time that he came to the family dinner 
bearing in his arms the annual doll. Laurier would take 
the child by the shoulders, give her a resounding kiss on 
either cheek, and say in his railing way: 

“ That's a pretty one, hey ? That is a Venetian — time 
of Titian !” . 

Then he would begin to talk to Mme. de Vignes and 
Jacques, giving no further attention to the little girl who 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 43 

sat there gazing ecstatically upon her porcelain patrician 
clad in silk and gold. When Juliette was fourteen years 
old, however, he thought that toys were beginning to be 
rather out of season, and he cast about to find a more ap- 
propriate gift for her. He made choice of a little work- 
box of the eighteenth century, of exquisite design and 
furnished with beautiful implements in silver-gilt, and in 
accordance with his usual custom he came in at dinner- 
time. Jacques was alone in the drawing-room. The two 
friends shook hands, and Laurier having inquired where 
Juliette was : 

“ My mother is dressing her,” Jacques replied. “ It is 
an important occasion : her first long dress ! We are to 
have the honor of the first view, and you may imagine 
what a to-do there is about it ! The arrangement of the 
hair had to be changed tod — we could not wear our hair 
hanging down our back with our new dress on. The 
chignon became a matter of necessity !” 

He was laughing still when the door opened, and in 
place of the child whom Laurier’s eyes were accustomed 
to behold, there entered the salon a young girl, changed 
in every respect ; a little timid, a little awkward, but 
charming. She did not run up to the painter, as usual, 
with her kittenish curiosity ; she hefd out her hand to 
him in a pretty way, and stopped, tongue-tied, before the 
two young men as if embarrassed. Pierre looked at her 
with a kindly smile. He said : 

“ You are looking very nicely, Juliette. If I might be 
allowed to indulge myself in a very small bit of criticism, 
I would say that I do not like those little curls upon' your 
forehead. You have a prettily shaped face, and your 
hair grows so as to set it off well ; wear it drawn straight 


44 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


back, then ; it is younger, and I am sure that it will be- 
come you.” Then drawing from his pocket the gift that 
he had brought : “You see — it is something that will be 
useful to you. I am treating you like a grown-up per- 
son to-day, like the rest.” 

“ Oh, how pretty !” exclaimed the child, her eyes 
dancing with joy. “ Just look, Jacques !” 

“ It is a work of art, my child. This painter has been 
committing extravagances. Suppose you give him a kiss, 
anyway ?” 

It was the custom. For years and years, on that day, 
Pierre had been used to kiss Juliette, and yet they now 
stood facing each other for a moment, as if not knowing 
what to do with themselves. Whether it was the long 
dress and the new coiffure that produced this embarrass- 
ment in them both, or whether it was the child blossom- 
ing forth into the young girl, like a rosebud opening to 
the first rays of the sun, Pierre seemed to have lost that 
spontaneous impulse which had formerly always impelled 
him fraternally toward Juliette. 

Jacques, looking at them with astonishment, had to 
exclaim : 

“ Well ! what has come over you ? Are you not ac- 
quainted with each other any longer ?” 

Thereupon Mile, de Vignes took one step forward, 
Pierre took two, and they were in each other’s arms. 
The young man bent his face down toward that of his 
little friend, she raised herself slightly on the tips of her 
toes, and with singular emotion Laurier felt her trembling 
and growing pale beneath his kiss. During the whole 
evening he seemed disturbed, talking but little, as if beset 
by some secret preoccupation. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


45 


From this time forth he showed himself circumspect in 
his relations with Juliette and was very guarded in his 
utterances. At the same time, he closely observed her 
whom only the week before he was treating as a baby, 
and it was clear to him that a rapid change was going on 
in her. Her form had developed into proportions of 
rounded grace, her complexion was beautified with a bloom 
like that of the peach, and the impetuous movements of 
her earlier days were subdued into a more dignified and 
elegant carriage. The chrysalis had opened and a bril- 
liant butterfly had come forth that caused all eyes to turn 
and look at it. Owing to this metamorphosis, Pierre’s 
mind was drawn into a state of agitation which he found 
some difificulty in subduing. 

His dreams were now of things quite different from 
what they had been hitherto. Artistic triumphs and the 
unregulated life calculated to ensure them, the excitement 
of the mental powers by means of a diversity of sensa- 
tions, everything that had formed part of the programme 
of his past life was now deemed by him despicable and 
ridiculous. It seemed to him that the tranquillity of the 
fireside, the repose of the heart, the regular succession of 
days well employed must be quite as efficacious means of 
producing high-class work, and that there was more chance 
of inspiration from continuous, conscientious toil than 
from spasmodic, ill-directed effort. Marriage appeared to 
him like an untried spring, in the waters of which he 
might bathe and come forth with increased powers. He 
thought of changing his way of life and giving himself 
the reward of virtue, and he allowed himself to look upon 
Mile, de Vignes with a tenderness that had nothing in 
common with the frank comradeship of other days. 


46 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


No one noticed this except the girl herself. Jacques 
was too much engrossed in his pleasures, and her mother 
was too anxious about the disorderly life that Jacques 
was leading, to suspect for a moment what was passing in 
the painter’s mind. Juliette, surprised at first at this sud- 
den change in the sentiments of her friend, then gratified 
to think that she was loved by one whom she looked 
upon as a superior man, had soon to experience the bit- 
terness of a disillusion. The flame which had been 
lighted and which seemed about to blaze up so brightly 
all at once went out. Pierre, who had been very assidu- 
ous in his visits to Mile, de Vignes, now went there, as in 
former days, only at irregular intervals, and all the bright 
hopes that the young girl had cherished in secret took 
flight, like day-dreams. 

She did not yield so easily, however, and undertook to 
learn what it was that kept the painter away. One even- 
ing, when Jacques had come alone to spend a few mo- 
ments with his mother, Juliette made bold to express 
her astonishment that they never saw anything of Pierre 
Laurier any more. 

“ Is he not in Paris ?” she inquired. 

“Yes,” Jacques replied, “but he scarcely ever leaves 
his studio. He has the fever of work on him.” 

The young girl breathed more freely. Work was a 
rival whose competition she did not fear. She went on : 

“ And what is he doing ?” 

“ A portrait.” 

Juliette gave a start at these words, carelessly uttered 
by her brother ; she seemed to hear a threat lurking in 
them. This portrait could not be a mere ordinary like- 
ness, and this work, to which Pierre had devoted himself 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 4/ 

SO passionately, could not otherwise than exercise an in 
fluence on the destinies of them all. She saw everything 
dark about her, as if the sun had gone under a cloud, 
and her heart was oppressed by forebodings of evil. She 
continued : 

“ And this portrait is of some well-known person ?” 

“ Oh, very well known indeed !” 

“ Who is it, pray ?” 

“ An actress.” 

‘‘What is her name?” 

Jacques commenced to laugh, and looking at his sister 
with surprise : “ Really, you are very inquisitive this 
evening,” said he. “ I would like to know what differ- 
ence it makes to you whether the original of Pierre’s por- 
trait is named Miss So-and-So or Miss Such-and-Such.” 

“ I am interested.” 

“Well! the lady of the portrait is Mile. Clemence 
Villa. She is small, dark, has black eyes, very fine teeth, 
an abominable reputation, and very little talent. In 
spite of all that, or because of it, she is very successful. 
Do you wish to know how old she is? Twenty-four 
or thereabout. Her country? Beautiful' Italy, land of 
Vermouth and Bologna sausage. Her opinions? Lib- 
eral, if not as regards money, at least with her affections. 
But you are making me talk folly. That is what one 
gets for conversing with children ! The portrait is a fine 
one, that is enough for you to know, and Pierre’s repu- 
tation won’t suffer by it.” 

The conversation turned upon other subjects, but the 
painful impression that Juliette had received was not dis- 
pelled. In spite of herself, her thoughts would revert to 
this woman whom she could not help considering bad, 


48 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


and she suspected that she was loved by him to whom 
she had sat for her likeness. She said to herself, “ It is she 
who has taken him away from me. Since he has known 
her, we see nothing more of him. He is ashamed to 
come here.” 

Juliette was not very far from the truth in her naive 
reasoning. Pierre now felt ill at ease in the house of 
Mme. de Vignes ; he felt that the eyes of his friend’s 
sister were upon him. His conscience was uneasy and 
reproached him with having been too quick to retire, 
after having advanced inconsiderately, and he conceived 
a feeling of anger against himself which kept him away 
from her whom he respected too highly to think, now, of 
loving. He thought: “You have behaved yourself like 
a regular rascal, my boy; you took the risk of trifling 
with the affections of this child so as to satisfy a dawning 
caprice, and then your sentiments and ideas shifted at the 
bidding of the first thing in petticoats that you came 
across. Go and keep company with your huzzies ; you 
are worthy only of them, and you and they were made 
to understand one another. Birds of a feather flock to- 
gether; go and associate with the shameless. Live in 
the fever of a fictitious passion, let the deathly intoxica- 
tion burn your brain, confine yourself to the grossness of 
your chance-met loves, but no longer aspire to the purity, 
the sweetness, the delight of a chaste and holy love ; the 
freshness and the whiteness of the young girl are no 
loifger for you. You preferred the mud that has been 
trodden under foot by every one ; you cannot have the 
white new-fallen snow.” 

And to conform to the rule of conduct that his fierce 
pessimism had laid down for him, the painter gave him- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 49 

self up still more ardently to pleasure, caring so much the 
less to keep Jacques’ excesses within bounds that he 
now shared his extravagances. What was only a cause 
of moral trouble to the one, however, was to the other 
the origin of a grievous physical deterioration. If Pierre 
could pass through the flames of the hell of their head- 
long life without burning, Jacques, less hardened than he, 
was wasting his strength and using up his life. It 
seemed as if Laurier was made of iron ; work and play 
were alike to him, he attacked them both with equal 
boldness. After the maddest night, he would be seen 
next morning in his atelier, palette on thumb, as if he had 
just got out of bed after eight hours of innocent slum- 
ber. A more metallic ring in his voice, a more feverish 
activity of movement were the only things that betrayed 
fatigue. And at night he was ready to begin it all over 
again. 

Jacques, on the contrary, his back more bent, his chest 
more hollow, his eyes more sunken, gave evidence in his 
whole person of a ruin that was day by. day becoming 
more complete. His mother tried to induce him to come 
to her, to withdraw him from the life that was killing him. 
He promised that he would come, that he would rest, 
break with his habits, his friends, his dissipated courses ; 
he could not. With deepest despair, Madame de Vignes 
saw the son, like the father, following the road, of which 
every stage, so well known to her, was marked by sorrows, 
and which ended in speedy and inevitable death. 

In the mean time the exposition had opened, and, se- 
cretly influenced by an eager curiosity, Juliette had re- 
quested her mother to take her there. She took but slight 
interest in modern painting ; what attracted her with a 


50 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

* disturbing and uncontrollable force was that portrait of 
Cl^mence Villa, the sitting for which had corresponded 
in such a fatal way with Pierre Laurier’s change of atti- 
tude toward her. Accompanied by her mother, who had 
not the remotest idea of the impulses which were dictat- 
ing her action. Mile, de Vignes passed with a rapid and 
careless step through the rooms where thousands of mean- 
ingless canvases were displayed in their cold mediocrity. 
She went on without a pause, looking for the only picture 
that had any value in her eyes. 

All at once she stopped and stood motionless, trans- 
fixed ; in front of her, twenty paces away, at the extreme 
end of the room, set in its black outer frame, the portrait 
of a small, dark, pale woman had met her hungry gaze. 
Without ever having seen her, she had recognized her at 
a glance. There could be no mistake, it was she ; no 
other could have been possessed of that fatal, wicked 
beauty which carried a chill to the soul. With an effort 
Juliette made her way through a group of admirers that 
stood in front of the guard-rope and approached the pic- 
ture. Her mother, carried along with her, looked tran- 
quilly at the portrait, and in a tone of satisfaction : 

“ See !” said she, “ it is Pierre LauriePs picture. It is 
really very remarkable.” 

Juliette paled slightly. The reflection that her mother 
had uttered had occurred to her at the same moment, ac- 
companied by a deep feeling of sorrow. Yes, the work 
was a remarkable one, and the painter’s talent had never 
been carried to a higher point. The fine lights of the 
face, shaded by a hat with great plumes, the radiant color- 
ing of the shoulders, showing above an entrancing costume 
Louis XVI., the alluring pose of the hand, resting on a 



JVIIAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 5 I 

long cane, the dazzling brightness of the eyes and the 
charm of the smile, all bore witness to the inspiration that 
could have had its origin only in the heart of a lover. 


The man who had looked upon this woman in her beauty 
and had reproduced her on canvas with such warmth of 
passion must have been madly in love, and everything was 


52 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

made clear, if it could not be excused, in the light of her 
voluptuous grace. 

Tears came to the girl’s eyes, and her heart beat as if 
it would burst. In the midst of the admiring crowd, ut- 
tering aloud the name of the painter and that of the 
model. Mile, de Vignes suffered frightfully. Two young 
men, standing close at her side directly before the picture 
and who took no pains not to be heard, concluded their 
praise with these words : 

“ And besides, he is her lover.” 

Juliette blushed as if she had received an insult, and 
trembling at the idea that she might overhear other words 
which would throw a still more cruel light upon the mys- 
tery which excited at the same time her curiosity and her 
indignation, she drew her mother away to the adjoining 
room. 

From this day forward she became more serious, with 
a tinge of melancholy, which failed to attract Mme. de 
Vignes’ attention. The two women had only too many 
causes for grief, and Juliette would have surprised her 
mother more had she been cheerful than she did by being 
sad. Their summer in the country had been a lonely 
one, Jacques continuing to lead his life of pleasure at the 
watering-places, Trouville or Dieppe, and making short 
visits to his mother at longer and longer intervals, while 
Pierre was become entirely invisible to them and was de- 
voting himself zealously to his art, as was evidenced by the 
frequent appearance at the picture-dealers’ of canvases 
signed with his name. Never did time seem longer and 
sadder than that spent by the two -women between June 
and October. They had ample leisure to reflect upon all 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 53 

the cares and sorrows that life was preparing for them in 
the future. 

The season was a splendid one ; the sky was without a 
cloud and the temperature was delicious. At evening 
mother and daughter would walk in the garden and watch 
the stars as they shone out in the clear sky, and the tran- 
quillity that pervaded all nature was in painful contrast to 
their agitated minds. They would walk to and fro, to and 
fro, without ever speaking a word, for they wished to con- 
ceal their troubles from each other, walking in the dark- 
ness which hid their drawn, set features. The two beings 
who, in all the world, were all in all to them were far 
away, and everything else was indifferent. The charms of 
nature, splendid as they were, were unheeded by them. 
The gentle breeze, loaded with perfume from all growing 
things, the pure, calm radiance of the mysterious heavens, 
the murmur of the leaves rustling above their heads, — 
everything which would have charmed and delighted them 
had only the dear absent ones been with them to share 
their impressions, left them weary and impassive. And 
day by day, night by night, invincibly, the same desola- 
tion kept pressing down upon them. 

Juliette had developed greatly; she had grown taller 
and her face was charming. She was now seventeen years 
old, and her seriousness had converted her into a woman. 
Her mother took pleasure in adorning her person. The 
partiality which she had always felt for her son did not 
blind her sufficiently to prevent her seeing the budding 
graces of her daughter. After looking at her for a long 
time one day, she said to her : 

“You are really growing pretty 

A fleeting smile passed over Juliette’s face, and she 


54 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

shook her “head without speaking. Of what use was her 
beauty to her ! The only one for whose admiration she 
cared was not there. 


Autumn was setting in when serious intelligence 



brought Mme. de Vignes back to Paris. Her son, after 
struggling desperately against his constantly increasing 
weakness, had all at once given way. He had been 
seized with hemorrhage, and his friends had taken him, 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH II IS SOUL. SS 

in a dying condition, as it was thought, to his mother’s 
house. The grief caused by this circumstance at once 
put an end to the young girl’s reveries. She idolized her 
brother, and hastening to him at once in company with 
her mother, she was terrified at the condition in which 
they found him. He had scarcely strength to arise when 
they entered his room ; of the once handsome Jacques 
there remained but a phantom. The physicians being 
summoned in consultation, it was decreed that he should 
at once take his departure for the south, and so, toward 
the end of November, the de Vignes family were installed 
in the villa that was bathed by the blue sea and shaded 
by woods of pine and juniper, among the red rocks. 

Youth has powerful resources at its command, and once 
there, Jacques began to pick up. The heat, the light, the 
regular mode of life had exercised their beneficent influ- 
ence, and if the sick man was not completely cured, he 
had at least gained strength to such an extent that his 
case was no longer despaired of. He went about pale, 
bent, tottering, shaken by terrible fits of coughing, but he 
was alive, and if he was willing to take great care of him- 
self, he might live for a long time in this way. It was 
not sufficient for Jacques, however, that this result had 
been attained, and the relief afforded to his disease did 
not satisfy him at all. His desires had returned with his 
returning strength, and the impossibility of gratifying 
them caused him an irritation which vented itself in bitter 
words and violent recriminations. In his exacerbated 
mind a parallel was constantly going on between what he 
had been and what he was now. His present debility 
seemed unsupportable to him when compared with his 
past activity, and the only use that he made of his return- 



Pierre Laurier’s arrival, however, had effected a happy 
diversion of his ennuis ; he felt himself stronger and less 
discouraged in company with his friend. Everything 


56 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


ing strength was to bemoan his fate and curse it. No 
resignation, not a bit of gentleness ; only one ceaseless 
lament and envious irritation. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


57 


which before left him weary or indifferent had begun to 
have attraction for him again. He no longer remained 
stretched out on his reclining-chair all day, or remained 
buried in his great wicker-work easy-chair on the terrace ; 
he walked and drove during the warm hours of the day, 
and the distraction had a favorable influence on his health. 
He was less gloomy, consented to receive visitors, and 
had not declined an offer which the painter had made to 
bring to the villa a very queer Russian physician, reputed 
by his confreres to be a quack, but famous by reason of 
some extraordinary cures that he had achieved. 

Doctor Davidoff, quartered at Monaco with his friend 
Count Woresef, was the only son of a wheat-merchant of 
Odessa, who had died a millionaire ten times over. He 
had therefore been able to follow his own inclinations, 
abandon practice, and devote his time to studying human- 
ity in its physical ills and moral miseries. He had quickly 
produced a deep impression upon Jacques’ imagination. 
His theory was to restore confidence to those whom he 
treated, assuring them that immediate benefit would be 
the result. 

“ Only have the conviction that you are going to get 
well,” he said to Jacques, “and the thing is already half 
accomplished; nature will take it upon her to do the 
remainder. She asks nothing better than to help the ail- 
ing, only they must help themselves as well. There is no 
other cause for the effects produced by the waters of la 
Salette and Lourdes in your own country ; the virtue of 
the draught resides in the mind of him who drinks it. Feel- 
ing the certainty that the holy water will act upon him, 
he already feels the longed-for benefit. For this reason it 
is useless to send unbelievers upon these healing pilgrim- 


58 


WHAT P TERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


ages, just as sceptics should not attend the seances of the 
spiritualists ; they have within themselves forces which 
react against the efforts of the adepts and neutralize the 
fluids. Experiments are never successful when made 
under such conditions. In the same way, the mysterious 
forces of nature, working to effect a cure, will never pro- 
duce favorable effects in an organism that is weakened by 
fear and cast down by doubt. Jesus, who was one of the 
great thaumaturgists of antiquity, said to those who 
asked him to heal them, ‘ Believe.’ In fact, everything is 
summed up in that one word.” 

From the very first Jacques had been deeply interested 
in these theories, skilfully elucidated as they were by the 
Russian doctor ; then little by little their subtile germ 
had penetrated his mind and borne fruit there. There 
were moments when hope returned to the sick man, and 
he said to himself : “ After all, why may I not get well ?” 
He called to mind wonderful instances of recovery; com- 
plaints, in a much more advanced stage than his, at first 
checked, and then disappearing entirely without leaving 
a trace behind, enabling those who had been the victims 
of the disease to lead a free life of pleasure exactly like 
the strongest and most healthy. Oh ! to live, to go and 
come without constraint, without precaution, to act ac- 
cording to his fancy, no longer to stand in fear of pleas- 
ure ! To be rid of doctors and nurses, to laugh at their 
dictatorial ways and scorn their restrictions, to be able to 
be imprudent at will ! What a sweet dream ! And 
would he ever be able to realize it? In all this fierce 
longing to be well again he had but one end in view : to 
start afresh upon that mad life that had reduced him to 
the miserable state that he was in. When he would give 




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WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 59 

way to these regrets and aspirations before Pierre, the 
latter would shake his head sadly and say bitterly : 

“ Is there anything more vain and deceiving than pleas- 
ure ? And is it worth while to pursue it ? Ah ! the long- 
ing for success and fame. ... Yes ! ... It is worthy of a man 
to give his life in the struggle to attain these, but to spend 
days and nights in turning over the cards or in paying 
court to women, can anything more ridiculous be imag- 
ined, can there be a more melancholy sight ? And yet I 
do it, even 1 who am criticising that way of life so severe- 
ly But then I am a fool, a miserable, stupid fool. Not 

having the energy to earn my living by honest labor, I 
look for it at the gaming-table. I gamble — what a shame- 
ful confession ! — in order to try to win from the bank the 
money that is demanded from me by a worthless creature 
whom I despise, who deceives me, and whom I cannot 
summon up courage to leave. . . . And so it is those things 
that you are longing for? It is for the hours passed at 
the gaming-table, by the consuming heat of the gas that 
dries up your brain, waiting for the red or the black to 
turn up ? And then for the moment when you can place 
the notes, thus dearly bought, in the itching fingers of the 
fair one who smiles as she counts the sum : love and cal- 
culation mixed ! That is the kind of happiness that you 
are dreaming of ! It is the same kind that I am enjoying, 
and I don’t know whether I would not prefer death !” 

He looked at his friend, terrified by this outbreak of 
sardonic rage, gave a mournful laugh, and went on in a 
calmer strain : 

After all, I am wrong in judging others by myself. 
You are loved, you are happy, and life has pleasures in 
store for you. /am despised, spurned, and the only joys 


6o 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


that I know are so bitter that the remembrance of them 
cuts me more cruelly than does the remembrance of my 
sorrows. What should I have to regret? Nothing. By 
whom should I be mourned ? By no one. You, on the 
other hand, your life is necessary to those who love you, 
to your mother, to your sister. For their sake you must 
get well ; they alone are to be considered. Ah ! had I 
at my side one of those gentle, charming creatures whose 
affection consoles and heals every suffering, I should be 
able to recover my moral health and become a better 
man. In my hours of deepest dejection I have often 
thought that if I had some one to whom I might devote 
myself, I might even yet become as good a man as the 
best. But I am alone in the world. . . . To the devil with 
reflection ! When I shall have had enough of my folly, I 
will split my ^ull upon one of those prettily colored 
rocks that lie at the bottom of the cliff, and the sea, like a 
last loving friend, shall rock my body in her cradle.” 

It was not in presence of his friend alone that Pierre 
Laurier abandoned himself to these fits of melancholy ; 
sometimes, when with Mme. de Vignes and Juliette, he 
had allowed his irritation to find vent in desperate words. 
If at such times he had only looked at the girl, the sor- 
rowful expression of her face would have shown him one 
of those reasons for making a better man of himself which 
he had besought from destiny. He did not, however, 
trouble himself about the effect that his words might pro- 
duce ; he was merely giving himself up sincerely to the 
expression of his discouragement. Foolish man ! Hope, 
so ardently invoked by him, was glittering, a luminous 
star, in his dark heavens, and he would not raise his eyes 
toward it. He wished for a gentle, charming creature to 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 6 1 

whom he might sacrifice his dangerous passions, and he 
had one close at his side, one who was moved by his 
grief, whose heart ached for him in his torments. 

Still, notwithstanding the sadness that the black hu- 
mors of her brother’s friend inspired in her, Juliette did 
not complain of her lot. She saw Pierre harassed with 
anxieties, gloomy and capricious, but nevertheless she 
saw him. At Paris she did not see him, so that was so 
much gained. She knew that the wicked woman was at 
Monte Carlo, but she was also aware that the painter no 
longer spent all his time in her company. If the chain 
still remained unbroken, the links were giving way, and 
doubtless the day might come when it would part entire- 
ly. It was all that she could hope for. She had not 
much pride, but are we proud when we are in love? 

The day succeeding the dinner which had come to such 
an odd ending with the story told by Doctor Davidoff, 
about ten o’clock in the morning, Juliette, her blond head 
protected by a sunshade and a little basket on her arm, 
was strolling along the terrace of the villa plucking flow- 
ers. The weather was delightful ; at the horizon the blue 
of the sea melted imperceptibly into the blue of the sky; 
a delicious breeze was blowing inward, heavily loaded with 
saline odors, while the waves, fringed with silver, rolled in 
and died away at the foot of the rocks which bordered on 
the silent little bay. Jacques came out of the house ac- 
companied by his mother, and began to walk slowly up 
and down in the sunshine. 

Mme. de Vignes was a little, slender woman, with deli- 
cate features, expressive black eyes, and an intelligent fore- 
head surmolmted by hair that had already begun to whiten. 
Her face bore the calm expression of a resignation that 



62 WHAT PIERRE DID ]VITH HIS SOUL. 

had become habitual. She walked along quietly beside her 
soil without speaking, casting an occasional glance upon 
him, as if measuring the influence that the southern cli- 
mate was exercising upon the progress of his convalescence. 
Jacques, when half way down the terrace, stopped, and 


seating himself upon the stone parapet that was warmed 
by the rays of the sun, watched the strange variations of 
color produced by the submarine vegetation in the water 
of crystalline clearness. He sat there enjoying^the warmth, 
his mind free from thought, forgetful of his illness and ex- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 63 

periencing a vivifying sensation of well-being. His sister, 
having finished gathering her flowers, came up to him, and 
giving him a gentle embrace, said : 

“ How do you feel this morning? Did you sleep well? 

It seems to me that you came in late.” 

The young man smiled at the recollection of his old- 
time frolics, which generally ended only with daybreak 
the following morning, and taking a spray of mimosa from 
his sister’s basket, replied : 

“ Oh yes ! extremely late ! It was past ten o’clock!” 

“You are laughing at me. But none the less it is the 
first time that you have been out at night since we came • 
here.” 

“ My doctor gave me permission. He was among the 
guests, and doctors never disapprove of the pleasures that 
they have a hand in.” 

Juliette was silent for a moment, then with a grave air: 

“You like Doctor Davidoff, then?” she inquired. 

“Yes, he is a good fellow, and his science is the genuine 
article, in spite of the satanic airs that he chooses to put 
on. I do not believe, moreover, that he is as much of a 
devil as he would like to appear. There is not a doubt, 
however, that since he has taken hold of me I am doing 
better.” 

“Thank God, my dear child!” exclaimed Mme. de 
Vignes. “ If it were for nothing but that, he would 
appear to me divine. Let him be whatever he will, pro- 
vided only that he restores you to health. In any event, 
he is a man of perfect good-breeding and his manners are 
of the very best ; but he might be the veriest clown and I 
would worship him. All that I ask of him is to make you 
well again.” 


64 


WHAT PIE K RE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


“ He ought to come in this morning to see whether my 
small debauch of last night resulted fatally or not. Un- 
fortunately it will be one of the last visits that he will 
make us : he leaves for the east in a few days with his 
friend and patient, Count Woreseff.” 

‘‘ That Russian who owns the handsome white yacht 
that is anchored in Villefranche road ?” 

“ That very same Russian.” 

“ Was he of your party last night ?” 

“ No ; he hardly ever comes ashore. It is said that he 
has a Circassian on board whom he carried off and whom 
he guards with jealous precaution, and that she is re- 
ported to be the most beautiful woman that one could 
imagine in his dreams. Her apartment is furnished with 
fabulous Oriental luxury, and the service is performed by 
women dressed in sumptuous costumes. When row'ing 
around the yacht in the evening, exquisite harmonies are 
heard proceeding from her ; it is the musicians whom the 
Count keeps on board for his own and his fair one’s de- 
lectation. That is the man with whom Davidoff is to sail 
for the land of the Thousand and One Nights.” 

“ I don’t pity him,” gayly said Madame de Vignes. 

“ He used all his powers of persuasion with Pierre again 
last night to induce him to accompany them. Woreseff, 
who adores artists, had thought of taking along a painter 
who might make some studies of the principal episodes of 
the voyage to serve as souvenirs.” 

“And your friend did not accept?” asked Juliette with 
a constrained smile. 

“ No ; he is thinking of another voyage, so he says. 
But he intends to make it alone.” 

These words, which offered so threatening a double 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


65 


meaning, were succeeded by silence. Jacques, suddenly 
struck by the sinister interpretation that might be put 
upon the expression uttered thoughtlessly by him, re- 
mained sunk in thought, calling to mind the fatal resolves 
that Pierre had so frequently given expression to. Juli- 
ette watched her brother with a sinking heart, divining his 
sensations and unable to overcome the shock that she had 
sustained. They both seemed influenced by the fear of 
impending misfortune, of which this sentence had been 
the terrible presage, and they were silent, beset by gloomy 
impressions. The sound of carriage-wheels on the Beau- 
lieu road aroused them from their sorrowful reflections. 
They gave each other a last look, terrified by their pallor 
and their sadness, then turned their eyes toward the gate 
of the villa, in front of which a carriage had drawn up. 

The Russian doctor, dressed in black and looking very 
grave, had alighted and was coming toward them. Jacques 
arose and, putting on a cheerful face, advanced a few steps 
to meet his early visitor. 

“ Faithful to your promise, my dear Davidoff,” he said, 
shaking hands with his friend. “How l thank you for 
showing me so much attention !” 

The doctor bowed to Mme. de Vignes and her daugh- 
ter. His face remained expressionless and icy. Jacques 
looked at him with surprise, and J uliette with terror. Why 
this attitude of constraint, this silent greeting? What 
was it that he feared to say? What was the eyent that 
made it necessary for him to assume that gloomy counte- 
nance and that sombre mien? The Russian looked at 
Jacques, and, as if to prolong a situation that might defer 
painful explanations, he slowly inquired : 

“ You are feeling well this morning? You slept well? 


66 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 


You have no fever?” He took his wrist and held it be- 
tween his fingers for a few seconds. “ No ! Your strength 
is coming back, and you can be treated now as if you were 
a man.” 

Jacques looked at the doctor and asked in a hollow 
voice : 

“ Is there anything happening of gravity sufficient to 
produce so deep an impression on me ?” 

Davidoff, without speaking, nodded his head affirma- 
tively. 

“And you hesitated about telling me?” continued 
Jacques. 

“ Certainly I did,” replied the Russian. 

“ And now?” 

“ Now I am ready to speak.” He lowered his voice a 
little in such a way as not to be heard by the mother and 
daughter. “ But it is better that I should wait until we 
are alone.” 

. They were all four walking slowly in the direction of 
the house. When they reached a point in front of the 
veranda that shaded the drawing-room windows, the 
blinds of which were partially closed on account of the 
sun, Mme. de Vignes and Juliette stopped. The girl 
looked anxiously at the doctor. It seemed to her that 
the obscure words that he had just uttered had some con- 
cealed connection with the ideas that were troubling her 
at the moment of his arrival. The image of Pierre 
Laurier arose before her mind’s eye, and she was pale and 
her gaze was wandering as if she were about to sink into 
unconsciousness. She could not doubt that the important 
communication that Davidoff had to make was in some 
way connected with the painter. What could its nature 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 6y 

be ? Her blood ran cold in her veins, and she felt a chill 
pass through her on that splendid sunny morning. She 
beheld the blue sky veiled in obscurity, the sea grew dark 
before her eyes and the eternal verdure of the pines 
changed color. A funeral knell rang in her ears and, a 
victim to her gloomy hallucination, she stood there mo- 
tionless with the sensation that everything was turning 
about her. 

Her mother’s summons restored her to herself. Her 
eyelids rose and fell, her vision became distinct again, the 
sky was bright, the sea blue, and the vegetation of a luxu. 
riant green. Nothing was changed except her heart, 
which was cruelly oppressed, and her spirit mortally sad. 

“Are you coming, Juliette ?” Mme. de Vignes repeated. 
“ I think that your brother wishes to be alone with the 
doctor.” 

The young girl cast a supplicating look upon the Rus- 
sian, as if it depended upon him whether the dreaded evil 
should or should not be, and with a deep sigh she entered 
the house. 

The two men had seated themselves upon the veranda, 
near an iron column upon which was trained a climbing 
heliotrope with its clusters of odorous flowers. They 
remained a second hesitating before the revelation that 
was to be asked for and to be made. Then Jacques, with 
the indifference of a sick man who thinks only of himself, 
asked in a calm voice : 

“ Pray, what is the matter, my dear friend ?” 

“ It is sad news, oh ! very, very sad, that I have to im- 
part to you. I learned it only this morning, and I con- 
fess that I am still quite upset Were it not that it is 
necessary that you should be informed, I would have de- 


68 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


ferred my painful mission, but you are so directly involved 
in the occurrence. ...” 

Jacques, who had all at once become very nervous, in- 
terrupted him : 

“ What a preamble ! And what precautions ! How am 
I involved?” 

“You shall know,” replied Davidoff, directing upon hi^s 
patient a look so searching as almost to be stern. “ Last 
night, about one o’clock, a tragic suicide occurred in the 
immediate vicinity of Monte Carlo. A man threw himself 
from the cliff into the sea. Some coast-guardsmen, in 
making their rounds, found his overcoat, his hat, and a 
scrap of writing — which is addressed to you.” 

“To me?” exclaimed Jacques, growing very pale. 

“ To you. . . . The things were all taken to the governor, 
who, knowing the friendship that exists between us, 
caused me^to be notified so that I might decide as to the 
best manner of imparting the information to you.” 

Jacques’ eyes had suddenly sunk in his head and his 
lips had contracted as if under the effect of a spasm of in- 
tense pain ; panting for breath, he asked : 

“ Then it is some one . . . who is very near to me ?” 

“Yes — very near.” 

Davidoff slowly took from his pocket-book the card 
upon which the painter had written his last farewell and 
handed it to the young man. The latter took the small 
square of pasteboard as if it inspired him with fear and 
read the name that was engraved on it ; his cheeks flushed 
burning red, and he exclaimed : 

“ Pierre ! . . . Pierre ! . . . Can it be possible !” 

He stood there as if deprived of the power of motion, 
his gaze fixed upon the Russian, who watched him in turn. 
















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4 m 






V 


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WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 69 

silent, motionless, dark of look. They did not speak, as 
if they dreaded to hear the sound of their own voices. 
They exchanged a glance that was full of doubt and 
horror, such a stupor of incredulity was produced in them 
by the disappearance of this man who, only a short while 
before, had so abounded in health and strength. And yet 
it was so. They would look upon Pierre no more. His 
place at their side was vacant forever. 

Without uttering a word Jacques turned his eyes again 
upon the card, of which he had only read the name, and 
dashing away with the back of his hand the tears that 
filled his eyes, he commenced to read the last farewell 
words that his friend had addressed to him. With diffi- 
culty he deciphered the tremulous writing, traced with a 
pencil in the darkness of the night ; as he read, an irre- 
sistible tenderness choked his voice. He felt that Pierre 
was weary of his suffering and his degradation, and that 
he had chosen to die in order to make his escape from it 
all, but he saw, too, that his friend in disappearing from 
earth had thought to conclude with destiny that strange' 
bargain which would, perhaps, allow him to live again in 
the person of Jacques. He slowly read : 

“ I am about to make another trial in my own person of 
the experience that Davidolf told us of. ... I bequeath my 
soul to you. Live and be happy through me and for my 
sake.” 

At the same moment that a sob rose to his lips, the 
look of the sick man brightened with a ray of hope. He 
was distracted by grief, but at the bottom of his heart a 
vivifying belief was already springing into birth. 

“ I was the last one to look upon him,” said the Rus- 
sian doctor. “ He parted from me to go to Clemence 


70 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


Villa’s. A violent scene, such as happened between them 
daily, must have taken place. He went out again, and 
since that time no one knows what became of him. 
Smugglers occupied the attention of the coast-guards on 
the Vintimille road all the night. Shots were exchanged, 
and it is near the place where the skirmish occurred that 
the coat, the hat, and the card were found.” 

‘‘And his body?” inquired Jacques. 

“ The waves will doubtless bring it to the beach. Thus 
his friends will be enabled to give it a Christian burial and 
will know where to go to weep over it.” 

At this moment a hollow groan, followed by the noise 
of a falling body, was heard in the drawing-room. Jacques 
and the doctor arose in affright. Davidoff stepped for- 
ward hurriedly, drew the blinds and uttered an exclama- 
tion. Juliette was lying senseless upon the floor near the 
window. She had ineffectually endeavored to support 
herself by a chair, which she had upset and carried down 
with her in her fall. As she lay there, pale and with 
closed eyes, she looked as if she were dead 

The two men rushed into the house. The commotion 
had brought Mme. de Vignes to the scene. There was no 
necessity for her to ask any questions ; she had seen her 
daughter through the open door. To raise the inanimate 
form in her arms was the work of a second for this wo- 
man of such frail appearance ; she laid her upon a sofa, 
looked into her face, felt her heart, assured herself that 
she was alive, and then, somewhat reassured, asked her 
son : 

“ What has happened ?” 

Davidoff had approached the young girl and was bath, 
ing her temples with cold water. Jacques did not show 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. /I 

his mother the note which, as by a superhuman testament, 
bequeathed to him the soul of his friend ; he only uttered 
these words : 

“ Pierre is dead.” 

It seemed as if Juliette had heard him from the depths 


of her painful slumber. She stirred, opened her eyes, 
recognized those who were standing by her and, her suf- 
fering returning together with her consciousness, burst 
into tears. 

Mme. de Vignes and her son exchanged glances, Jacques 
head sank upon his breast ; then the mother, divining 
the chaste secret of Juliette’s virgin love, gave a^sorrow- 
ful sigh and began to weep in company with her daughter. 


72 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS' SOUL. 


Davidoff took Jacques by the arm and led him outside. 
Upon the terrace the air was balmy, the sun was giving 
its warmth to the plants that filled the air with their per- 
fume, the gentle breeze made glad the heart, the sea was 
of a blue like turquoise, the great swallows skimmed the 
waves with joyous cries. It seemed to the doctor that 
his patient was no longer the same man. He walked with 
a firm and deliberate step, not dragging his feet after him, 
his form was erect, his eyes, but a moment before hollow 
and lustreless, now sparkled with life. He did not speak, 
but it was manifest, from the swelling of his features, that 
some sudden exaltation was at work within him. David- 
off, with bitter irony, watched the metamorphosis that 
hope had effected in his being. 

Thereupon, thinking of Pierre Laurier dead and gone 
and Juliette weeping, the Russian gave a silent and sar- 
donic smile. He said to himself that it was a great deal 
that two lives should be sacrificed in order that this self- 
ish young man should be restored to life, and on the 
beautiful terrace, beneath the charming sky, he mentally 
called up a young, happy loving couple, walking in the 
intoxicating perfume of the blooming orange trees with 
arms interlaced ; but the lovers fled in sudden fright and 
Davidoff beheld only Jacques walking triumphant at his 
side, already inspired with new life by Pierre’s blood and 
Juliette’s tears. 


III. 


While Pierre was putting forth all his strength to reach 
the drowning man, the moon, breaking through her veil 
of clouds, disclosed him to the excisemen who were lying 
in ambush upon the cliff. Two reports, a sharp whistling 
sound close to his ears and a dash of foam where the 
bullets struck the water told him that he was taken for a 
smuggler. He rose on top of a big wave and cast a 
rapid glance about him. At ten feet distance there was a 
dark form struggling in the current ; at two hundred 
metres the boat, impelled by the utmost efforts of the 
rowers, was making its way toward the cutter, which was 
tacking in the offing. A few vigorous strokes brought him 
alongside the wretched man, who was struggling blindly, 
half choked by the waves and unable to exert himself in- 
telligently. Pierre grasped him firmly, raised his head 
above the water and with his powerful voice sent out a 
cry which went ringing over the waves and reached the 
boat. At this appeal the man who held the tiller rose to 
his feet, looked carefully around, and perceiving the mov- 
ing group on the surface of the silvery waves, answered 
with a shrill whistle. The oars immediately ceased to 
beat the water, the boat’s way was checked and the 
cutter, as if in obedience to orders received in advance, 
headed for the land. 

Pierre, collecting all his strength, still advanced but 
slowly, weighted as he was by the inert mass of the 
drowning man. His clothing, adhering closely to his 

73 


74 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


body, hindered the free use of his legs, and his breathing 
was becbming labored. Now great masses of water passed 
over his head ’and he could no longer cleave his way 
through the waves, lightly and vigorously, with his 
strong arms. It seemed to him as if some irresistible 
power were dragging him to the bottom and as if his heavy 
limbs were being bound with mysterious bonds. Rum- 
bling noises filled his ears, and his eyes, veiled with 
shadows, could no longer clearly discern the sky. 

He thought, ‘‘ I shall never have the strength to reach 
the boat, and I shall die in company with this wretched 
man.” He was seized with despair at not being able to 
save the unknown, whom he held in a close embrace, 
as if he had been a dearly loved brother. He did not 
think of himself ; he had already made a sacrifice of his 
life, and he now felt a keen delight that he was not throw- 
ing it away in an absurd and cowardly suicide, but in a 
struggle to save a fellow-man from death. 

A fierce desire to conquer restored his strength ; with 
a more strenuous effort he lifted his helpless burthen and 
again appeared upon the crest of the waves. The boat 
was not more than twenty feet away from him. His 
mouth, close set by the contraction of all his muscles, 
emitted a feeble, smothered cry ; he beat the water with 
his arms, while his paralyzed legs remained powerless to 
move. A great swell came along and turned him over, 
and the bitter flood filled his throat, stifling a last appeal. 
He sank down into the green water beneath the light of 
the moon, with this very definite idea, that if he let go 
his companion, relieved of his weight he would be saved. 
But he rejected the selfish thought, the expression of 
human cowardice. He thought, “ If, by abandoning him, 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


75 



I could assure his safety at the expense of my own de- 
struction, I would do it. Come, one last effort that he 
may not die with me.” He came to the surface, drew a 
long, deep breath, again beheld the starry heavens, and 
suddenly felt himself delivered from the burthen that was 
drowning him. He heard a voice saying in Italian, “ I 
have him, haul in.” 


At the same moment a mass, which seemed to him of 
enormous size, reared itself upon the waves, black as 
night, and fell back heavily upon him. He was conscious 
of a sharp pain in the forehead, his eyes saw millions of 
stars, it seemed to him that his form was becoming light 
and impalpable, and consciousness left him. 

When he came to, he found himself stretched upon a 
bundle of sails in the bow of a small vessel that was spin- 



76 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

ning along merrily in the clear, starry night. The reefed 
jib was snapping in the wind above his head, the sea was 
roaring where it was parted by the stem, and three men 
with sunburned faces were bending over him, watching 
anxiously for his waking. He endeavored to rise, but 
two strong arms held him down. One of the men, un- 


corking a flask covered with plaited straw, offered him a 
drink. He swallowed a mouthful of very strong brandy, 
which had the effect of restoring his perception of ex- 
ternal objects. A bruise upon the forehead reminded him 
of the blow under which he had fainted. He raised his 
hand to his face and withdrew it covered with blood. At 
the same time he was chilled by the night air, which 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 77 

was rendered keener still by the rapid motion of the boat. 
Then, in a voice that was still feeble, addressing those 
who stood around him : 

My friends,” said he, “ if you wish to do me a kind- 
ness, as everything proves that you do, .give me in the 
first place some dry clothes : I am perishing with cold.” 

“ Hallo ! the comrade is a countryman of mine,” said 
one of the three sailors, with a strong Provencal accent. 

Let me have the pleasure of sharing my wardrobe with 
him.” 

He disappeared down the hatchway and came up again 
in a minute with a pair of trousers, canvas shoes, a woollen 
shirt and a heavy cloak. He laid the things down at 
Pierre’s side, and said with an air of satisfaction : 

Agostino will pull through all right ; he is beginning 
to breathe. If he did not get the boat on top of his head, 
as you did, he swallowed a great deal more of the soup.” 

At these words, Pierre remembered the enormous black 
mass that he had seen rising on the crest of the waves a 
moment before he lost consciousness ; he now understood 
that it was the small boat, lifted by the swell, which had 
fallen back on him with all its weight. While he was re- 
flecting, his companions had rapidly divested him of his 
wet clothing and supplied its place with the dry. When 
this was accomplished, he found himself seated on a coil 
of rope, very light-headed .still, but extremely comfortable 
in the soft woollen which warmed his aching limbs. 

''Who is Ago.stino?” he asked, turning toward the 
three men, who were watching him with an air of satisfac- 
tion. 

" Agostino,” replied the Provencal, " is the comrade 


78 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


that you swam to the boat with under the fire of the 
excisemen.” 

“ And who are you, yourselves ?” Pierre demanded, 
with a brusque air of authority. 

The sailors laid their heads together hesitatingly. One 
of them finally said in a guttural voice, in bad Italian : 

“ We have no need to distrust him. Besides, what 
harm can he do us ?” 

None at all,” Pierre calmly interjected. “And even if 
I could injure you, I certainly have no inclination to do 
so.” 

“ Aha ! you understood, did you ?” said the Provengal, 
laughing. 

“ Nearly. But it seems to me that your comrades talk 
a patois f 

“ Yes ; it is the Sardinian dialect. We are poor sailors, 
who try to run in without paying duty, at our own risk 
and peril, goods that are entrusted to us by the merchants 
of Leghorn and Genoa.” 

“ Smugglers, in other words?” 

“ Mon Dieu ! yes ; that is the truth of it. We were 
just about discharging a cargo of silks, brandy and cigars, 
when we were disturbed right in the middle of our work 
by those good-for-nothing dogs of coast-guardsmen. We 
landed the merchandise, though, all except two bales of 
Virginias which went to the bottom and will be smoked 
by the little fishes. But you, monsieur, how was it that 
you happened to be there just in time to get poor 
Agostino out of the pickle he was in ?” 

It was now Pierre’s turn to be embarrassed. He did 
not see that there was any call for him to confide to his 
new-found acquaintances the reason of his being at the 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


79 


point named, where he had been enabled to save another 
man’s life instead of throwing away his own. His hesita- 
tion in answering made the sailors think that he had 
reasons for not wishing to give an explanation of his con- 
duct. If such was the case, they were not the kind of 
men to be surprised ; they were, moreover, by reason of 
their occupation, very much disposed to habits of dis- 
cretion. 

‘‘Your affairs are your own business,” said the Proven- 
gal, just as the painter was getting' ready to invent a fib 
of some sort, “ and we have nothing to do with them. In 
place of making you talk, it would be better to attend to 
that wound on your forehead. It has been bleeding, and 
that is good for wounds on the head. A strip of linen, 
now, and in two days it will be all right. Would you 
like to go down into the cabin with our comrades ?” 

“ If it makes no difference to you, I would prefer to re- 
main on deck. My sea legs are not very good, and the 
fresh air will be of benefit to me.” 

“Just as you please.” 

A few minutes later Pierre, with his head bandaged up, 
was leaning over the rail of the cutter and watching the 
sea as it raced along the vessel’s side toward the stern. 
There was not a sail to be seen. In the distance, in a thin 
fog, a revolving light flashed its rays out over the water 
from moment to moment. The fresh breeze came and 
deliciously filled the young man’s lungs. Among these 
unknown companions he felt himself relieved of a weight 
that was crushing him. It seemed to him that he was 
not himself any longer, and that Pierre Laurier, sick and 
senseless, was now sleeping at the bottom of the sea, pale 
and inert, rocked by the ocean surges. He heaved a deep 


8o 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


sigh which resounded in the silence, and murmured in a 
low tone : 

“ It is true ; I am dead.” 

Do you want anything?” asked the Provencal, who 
was standing watch two steps away. 

“ Faith, my dear comrade, since you deal in contraband 
cigars you must have kept a few on board. I confess that 
I would like to have a smoke.” 

“ That is easy enough.” He put his head down the 
hatchway and uttered a few words. Presently he came 
back with a package tied up in yellow ribbons that he 
handed to Pierre. “ The captain sends them to you, and 
he wishes me to tell you that Agostino is all right again. 
. . . Poor fellow ! If he had gone to the bottom there 
would have been many a tear shed in Torrevecchio.” 

“Where away is Torrevecchio?” 

The Provencal stretched his hand out over the sea, to- 
ward the horizon. “ Down there,” he said, “ in Corsica.” 
He took out his flint and steel and struck a light, and 
holding out the burning tinder said : “ Here is some fire 
for you.” 

Pierre selected a long brown cigar, lighted it carefully^ 
and puffing out the smoke in thick clouds with keen de- 
light, inquired : “Tell me, what port is your vessel mak- 
ing for now ?” 

The sailor shook his head. “ Only the captain can tell 
that. We are headed for the island of Elba, but shall we 
turn up at Porto Ferajo or somewhere else ? We shall 
know more about it when we get there. You had better 
try to get some sleep.” 

Pierre smiled and gave an approving nod of the head. 
He slowly turned his steps toward the bundle of sails on 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


8 


which he had found himself lying when he recovered con- 
sciousness. He drew his woollen cloak closely about him 
and stretched himself at length on the sails, making use 
of a coil of rope for a pillow ; and pulling gently at his 
cigar, his eyes fixed on the glittering heavens, his mind at 
rest and his heart free for the first time in many months, 
he lost himself in a reverie which gradually conducted 
him to the land of dreams. 

When he awoke the sun was warming him, like a lizard 
in a hole in the wall, with his oblique beams. He had 
some difficulty at first in recognizing his surroundings; 
the sails and rigging greeted his eyes with a spectacle 
which they were not accustomed to behold on opening in 
the morning. The recollection of the events which had 
filled the short hours of the night quickly returned to him. 
His heart beat more rapidly at the thought that his ac- 
customed life was completely overturned, and that it was 
impossible for him ever again to do any of those things that 
he had been used to do. Between his past and his present 
a chasm yawned, wider and deeper than the blue sea that 
separated the vessel he was on from the coast. And 
down, down at the bottom of that sea lay a corpse, that of 
a mad painter named Pierre Laurier, who had fallen from 
such a height that the fall was mortal. 

Yes, mortal ! He repeated this word so that there 
might not be the smallest possible doubt in his mind, 
where darkness still reigned. He had said that he would 
kill himself, he had written it, he had cast at his friends 
and his mistress this despairing and bitter cry : “lam fly- 
ing from life, because you have not taught me to love it.” 
At that moment they must be overwhelmed either with 
stupefaction or with melancholy. He could not show 


82 


WI/AT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


himself again without incurring the risk of ridicule. 
Chance had conducted him among unforeseen surround- 
ings, where he was absolutely unknown to all his com- 
panions; all that he had to do was to allow the blind god- 
dess to lead him where she would. 

Besides, was not this the silence, the repose, the peace- 
fulness for which his spirit had thirsted? Oh, to come 
forth from the hell of an entangling and unwholesome 
passion and find one’s self placed in the paradise of a 
primitive and entirely material existence ! To pass from 
the unhealthy atmosphere of a courtesan’s boudoir, from 
the vitiated heat of a gambling-room, to the keen, health- 
giving odors of this boat as she cleaved the pure air and 
the blue waves! His lungs were distended with the fresh 
breeze ; it seemed to him that his chest was enlarging, and 
a thrill of delight ran through all his limbs. He arose, and 
seeing the crew collected on the deck, advanced toward 
his new friends with a tranquil step. 

The Provencal stepped forward to meet him. Have 
you slept well ?” the sailor asked. 

“ Never better !” 

“ Ah ! that is because the sea is such a good cradle.” 

“ Where are we now ?” Pierre inquired. 

“ About abreast of Leghorn. That line of white hills 
that you see there to the left is Viareggio. . . . But here 
comes the captain with Agostino. He wishes to thank 
you.” 

Pierre scarcely had time to collect himself ; a little 
brown-bearded, brown-haired man with an olive complex- 
ion, lighted up by a pair of great eyes and a good-natured 
smile, rushed up to him, and already had him clasped in 
his embrace. 



very young to die. It was your companions, though^ 
who got you out of your scrape ; I was on the point of 
drowning with you.” 

“ That is the very thing that attaches me to you,” said 
Agostino with warmth. “ You were sinking, and still you 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 83 


You saved my life !” he exclaimed. “ You may count 
upon me in turn ; my life belongs to you.” 

“Very well, comrade, very well!” said the painter, 
gently disengaging himself. He looked at Agostino and 
saw that he was barely twenty years old ; and placing his 
hand on his shoulder, he continued : “ Really, you were 


84 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 


did not let me go. Oh ! you must come with me to the 
country so that my mother and sister may thank you. . . . 
But what is your name ?” 

“ Pierre.” 

Agostino in turn examined his preserver. “You are 
not a fisherman, nor a sailor, nor a working-man. . . . You 
are a gentleman.” 

“ There is where you are mistaken ; I am a working- 
man I paint for a living.” 

“ Oh, then it must be fine and delicate painting ! Per- 
haps men’s and women’s faces looking out of the false 
windows of villas? Perhaps signs for the shops... per- 
haps Madonnas at the street-corners. . . .” 

“ Exactly,” said Pierre. “ And if I find work in your 
country, I will stay there for a little while.” 

“ The Corsicans are not rich,” said the captain. “ If, 
however, you choose to give a coat of paint to the Saint 
Laurence at the bow of the vessel . . .” 

“Yes, certainly, when we reach port. It will pay for 
my passage, unless you think the price is too small . . .” 

The smuggler interrupted him : “ It is we who are 
your debtors. Whatever you do for the boat, we will ac- 
cept it as a mark of friendship, but we shall still be in 
your debt.” 

“That is understood, then,” Pierre gayly exclaimed. 
“ And may one know where we are going at this rattling 
pace ?” 

“ To Bastia.” 

“ Bastia is good enough,” said the painter. “ I have no 
preference. Provided only we don’t reach the mainland, 
all will be well.” 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 85 

‘‘ Is there a necessity, then, for your taking the air far 
from France?” asked the captain with a strange smile. 

“ A very pressing necessity.” 

“ Have you been engaged in some affair that did not 
turn out well?” 

“ A pretty bad affair . . . yes, a love affair.” 

The smuggler’s face assumed an expression of disdain, 
and Pierre understood that he had sunk in his esteem ; 
but although he had only succeeded in getting himself 
set down as a half rascal, he already felt himself more at 
ease among his shipmates. He thought: “ Here I am, like 
Salvator Rosa among the brigands, but is the society of 
the men around me any worse than that of those with 
whom I used to shake hands every day ? All that is 
changed is the language and the costume. Besides, these 
folks are more amenable to generosity and gratitude than 
my friends of yesterday ; the heart of these is more sim- 
ple and more upright than that of the others, and these 
scamps who have all done something to deserve impris- 
onment, and some of them, perhaps, the galleys, are less 
rotten, less eaten by gangrene, than those with whom I 
was accustomed to associate habitually.” 

He was strengthened by this bitter philosophy and 
faced his new situation with tranquillity, almost with sat- 
isfaction. He no longer thought of dying ; he had no rea- 
son to call down imprecations on life. It was furnishing 
him with unlooked-for sensations which excited his active 
imagination. Variable and impressionable by nature, as 
prompt to give way to enthusiasm as to despair, his artis- 
tic temperament in an instant came to the ftont in seduc- 
tive conceptions that threw his recent cares and troubles 
into the background. It was rest and contentment, not 


86 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


anxiety and constraint, that this change of circumstances 
afforded him. It seemed to him as if he had just made 
his escape from a prison in which he had been vegetating 
for long months. He enjoyed his independence, his re- 
stored freedom. His eyes, refreshed and more sensitive, 
as it were, were struck by a thousand details that would 
have escaped them the day before. He was delighted by 
the green hue of the waves with their fringe of silvery 
foam. He studied the gradual change of tone in the 
coloring of the sky, from an intense blue at the zenith to 
an opaline gray at the horizon. The light spars of the 
vessel, the rigging, the red sails outlined on this light 
background, the silhouette of a sailor seated outboard on 
the boom, all this living picture attracted his attention 
and was the source of most delicious pleasure. 

Scarcely was he freed from the bondage of the woman 
who had been his evil genius when his art claimed him 
for her own again, and with a wonderful faculty of disen- 
gagement, he already retained only a very faint memory 
of her who had tortured him. His unwholesome love 
had disappeared from his heart as a consequence of that 
violent moral shock, as a rotten fruit falls from the branch 
after a night of storm. 

He lighted one of the long Virginias that the Pro- 
vencal had given him the night before, and leaning on 
the rail, he allowed his eyes to wander over the calm sea 
that was enlivened by a few fishing-boats flitting to and 
fro and by the great steamers, trailing their plumes of 
black smoke behind them, on their way to Civita Vecchia 
or Naples. The wind, freshening in the sails, sent the 
cutter along at a good pace, and already in the misty dis- 


■WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 87 

tance lofty mountains were beginning to appear in the 
bright sunlight. 

Pierre called to Agostino, and pointing to the horizon, 
inquired : “ What is that country, there, in front of us?” 

“ Corsica,” replied the sailor in his rough voice. “ The 
mountains that you see run from the point of Centuri to 
Bonifacio. The little island to the left that almost joins 
the mainland is Giraglia ; we shall have to pass between 
its battery and Cape Corso to-night in order to reach 
Bastia. Were it not for the sea-fog, you would be able 
to distinguish the snow on Mount Calvo. . . . But it is a 
fine country, . . . you will see. And then there is no mo- 
nopoly of tobacco, as there is in France, and they have 
free trade there ; . . . not to mention that what is prohib- 
ited is permitted all the same ! . . . But they are getting 
breakfast ready ; you must be hungry.” 

“ Faith, I am.” 

“ Well, come along with me.” 

A very primitive table was spread in the bow on some 
empty boxes. There were bread, ham, apples, a Gorgon- 
zola cheese, and white wine in flasks. 

“ Take a seat, sir,” said the captain, motioning Pierre 
to a place near his own, “ and help yourself.” 

The cheer was appetizing, and the painter did honor to 
it. While he was eating he observed that his companions 
remained silent. “ Do I interfere with your talking?” he 
suddenly asked. “ I should be very sorry ” 

The captain looked at him calmly. “No; but we live 
together all the time, and have not very much to say to 
one another. And then the sea does not permit much 
conversation : it does all the talking. It is a great chat- 
terbox, and the sailor listens to it.” 


88 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

The others nodded in sign of their approval. Then 
Pierre, pouring some wine into a tin goblet and raising it 
as high as his face, said : 

“To your health, my friends.” 

They raised their cups and gravely replied : 

“ To your health.” 

After, drinking some very hot coffee and some excellent 
rum, without lingering further at table each one got on 
his feet and went about his work. The day passed with 
incredible rapidity, and at evening the cutter entered the 
port of Bastia. 

The next morning the health officer came and ex- 
amined the papers of the little vessel and the crew were 
at liberty to land. Agostino, attaching himself to Pierre, 
made him take a seat at his side in the bow of the small 
boat. He seemed to be doing the honors of his country. 
He pointed out the different localities of the city : the 
Place Saint-Nicolas, which overlooks the sea, the Boule- 
vard de la Traverse, the rich and populous quarter, the 
convent of Saint-Roche on the heights, the citadel and the 
ruins of ancient donjons that had been cannonaded and 
burned ‘during the wars with the Genoese. Encircling 
this amphitheatre of houses, which reached from the 
beach half way up the mountain-side, were verdurous and 
flowery gardens, where orange trees and mimosas gave 
their delicious perfume to the air. Above the city was 
the thicket, that short, dry vegetation that covers the 
slopes of all the mountains in Corsica and constitutes 
what is called the maquis: broom, heath, juniper trees, 
lentiscus and small pines, all finding upon the rock just 
sufficient earth to cover their roots, and affording an 
almost impenetrable cover for game, and also for the 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


89 


bandits. Away up upon the summits were splendid 
beech woods, the wealth of the country, ravaged by the 
inhabitants, who carry away the wood, and destroyed by 
the shepherds, who burn them to make clearings for pas- 
turage. 

All these things Agostino told his preserver as the boat 
was passing along the Mole du Dragon on its way to the 
landing-place. They disembarked at the foot of the 
stairs, and Pierre, a little light-headed still, found himself 
once more on terra firma. He was still wearing his cloak 
and his coarse woollen trousers and was shod with his 
canvas shoes. From his other clothing, which had been 
quite ruined by the sea-water, he had taken only his 
money and his watch. He looked at himself in the win- 
dow of a wine-shop that stood on the quay and saw 
that his dress, together with the bandage that encircled 
his forehead, gave him the appearance of a regular brig- 
and. He seized Agostino by the arm and stopped him. 

“ Where are you going at such a rate ?” he inquired. 

“To get some breakfast, in the first place,” said the 
young man, “ and then forward to the village. We have 
a week’s rest while waiting for another cargo.” 

“ Well, come and breakfast with me, and afterwards you 
will tell me where to find a good inn.” 

“Are you not going to accompany me to the coun- 
try?” said Agostino in a tremulous voice. “ I had prom- 
ised myself that you would go and let my mother em- 
brace you.” 

“ I shall be very glad to go with you,” Pierre replied, 
laughing, “ but don’t you remember that I promised the 
captain to repaint his Saint Laurence ? A thing said is a 
thing, done !” 


90 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


“ That is right,” said Agostino, cheerfully. But how 
long time is your work going to require?” 

All the forenoon of to-morrow.” 

So that to-morrow afternoon you will be ready to go 
with me?” 

Yes, certainly.” 

'^‘Then I will wait for you. I will go right away and 
secure Father Anton’s gig; you will make the journey 
more comfortably in that way.” 

“ Very well, that is settled.” 

They entered the inn of Santa Maria, where Agostino 
was favorably known on account of the excellent eatables 
that he smuggled in for them every month from Greece 
or Italy. 

When seated in the chamber on the first floor, Pierre, 
for the first time in three days, was able to put aside the 
fascination of his strange adventure, look matters squarely 
in the face and reflect upon the best course for him to 
pursue. On the one hand the idea of returning to France 
inspired him with a feeling of deep disgust, and on the 
other he had it very much at heart not to hurt Agostino’s 
feelings. Everything, therefore, conspired to keep him 
in the country. And then, too, the charm of this pictur- 
esque island had its influence on him. All his surround- 
ings were calculated to captivate him : the scenery, wild 
and at the same time attractive, the primitive manners of 
the inhabitants, finally the mystery of his own incognito, 
which would allow him to live for as long a time as he 
might desire among the lower classes, such interesting 
objects of study in this land where the very beggars have 
the proud airs of great noblemen. Merim^e came up 
before his recollection, with wild Columba’s poetic form 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 9 1 

and the fierce hatred of the Baricini, and it seemed to him 
that he was carried back two centuries, to that Corsica 
that was divided, as it was in those days, by the rancor of 



{ 

i 


its rival parties and feverishly agitated by the memories 
of its bloody vendettas. 

He passed the afternoon wandering about the streets 


92 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


of the city, quite alone, for Agostino, with praiseworthy 
discretion, had left him to himself. There was not a mo- 
ment that he felt the time hang heavy on his hands. The 
movements of the sedate and dignified populace, the pic- 



turesque attire of the country people, who had come in 
to market, almost all of them armed with a musket, the 
dark clothing of the women, surmounted by the black 


WFIA T PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 93 

mezzarOy as if they were in mourning, everything charmed 
and delighted him. 

He went into a tailor’s shop and bought a complete 
suit of brown velvet, similar to the costume of a Calabrian 
brigand, for he could not with decency continue to wear 
his cloak, his sailor’s trousers, and his canvas shoes. At 
a dealer’s in artist’s materials in the Traverse he found a 
painter’s box and some canvases of different sizes, and 
with his mind at rest as to how he should henceforth em- 
ploy his time in the land of Bonaparte, he made his way 
back to his inn. He dined in company with Agostino, 
took a walk about the port, went to bed at nine o’clock 
and slept a dreamless sleep. 

The sun, shining through his window, awoke him. He 
jumped out of bed and dressed, and then, with his box 
under his arm, went down to the cutter. For a few sous 
a rowboat put him on board the little vessel that was rid- 
ing at her two anchors, and at the bow of which a broad 
plank, fastened to the bowsprit by a couple of ropes, 
formed a kind of staging in front of the painted image of 
the saint who was the patron of the boat. 

Conducted by the captain, and assisted to his position 
by the crew, Pierre immediately set himself to his task. 
While he was coloring the coarse image of carved wood, 
two sailors, hanging from the rigging overhead, watched 
him admiringly. The colors beneath his brush came 
out with startling brilliancy, the face assumed an appear- 
ance of life, the eyes shone, the outstretched arm seemed 
to command the waves. At ten o’clock the work was 
finished ; and attended by a new description of respect, 
inspired by his talent, Pierre breakfasted for the last time 
with his companions of a day. Toward noon he went 



Bastia behind a fast-trotting horse with streaming mane 
and tail. 

After leaving the bounds of the city the road winds 
between enclosures planted with grapevines, past fields of 


94 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


ashore, escorted by all the crew, and after shaking hands 
with those to whom he owed more than life, mounted, in 
company with Agostino, into a kind of corricolo and left 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 95 

olives and between little groves of eucalyptus and holm- 
oak. The ground is sandy and the temperature extremely 
mild. The water-courses, coming down from the moun- 
tains, lose themselves in the level lands and form ponds 
covered with reeds, broad verdant plains, over which fly 
flocks of ducks and wild geese. The road runs half way 
up the hill-side, skirting the shore, passing through an 
infrequent village here and there. Agostino, urging his 
horse to a lively gait, explained to his companion the 
manners and customs of the country, giving way to an 
expansion and a jollity that formed a striking contrast to 
the gravity that he maintained on board. He was like a 
sghool-boy enjoying his vacation. 

“ You will see how rich our country is !” he said. “ We 
are not lazy tenders of cattle. Torrevecchio has quite a 
commerce of its own. . . . My father used to sell his wine, 
and our vineyard is a large one; my brother-in-law culti- 
vates it now and has the management of it. My mother 
and my youngest sister live in a little hamlet near the 
city. They have enough to live on, and I do not allow 
them to want for anything. Oh, they will be very fond 
of you when they come to know what you did for me !” 

The painter smiled at the thought of the grateful affec- 
tion of these poor folks. He said to himself : “ I shall 
not long be a burthen on them; I shall soon make myself 
independent. After a day passed in the village, a guide 
will conduct me over the mountain, for there is no use 
in fixing myself permanently in the low countries by the 
sea-shore ; I must see the wild parts of Corsica, the coun- 
try of the maquis and the bandits. If there are any 
sketches to be made, it will be in the direction of Bocog- 
naro, the holy land of the vendetta....! have twenty 


96 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


louis in my portemonnaie, and in my pocket-book a thou- 
sand-franc note, salvage from the wreck; it will be more 
than I shall need to support me for some months in this 
primitive country, among these folks who have no wants. 
. . . And when my money is all gone, there will remain my 
profession — I will daub portraits in a single sitting at a 
hundred sous each — that will bring my youth back to me 
again!” 

The vehicle, having crossed the bridge of San Pancra- 
zio, was rolling along a steep road between two rows of 
chestnut trees. The sun was descending below the hori- 
zon, tinting the mountains purple with his dying fires. 
Agostino turned into a little country road, whistling mer- 
rily, like the blackbirds of his country. After proceeding 
a few hundred metres, he stopped before the fence of an 
enclosure and jumped down from his seat. A great dog, 
who came running up barking ferociously, tangled him- 
self up in the young man’s legs with howls of delight, 
while an elderly woman and a young girl appeared in the 
orchard and came forward with open arms. Agostino 
embraced them effusively and pushed them forward to- 
ward his preserver, explaining his adventure in Corsican 
patois with a volubility that had no equal on earth. 
Pierre, having been thanked, caressed, carried away by 
the whirlwind of exuberant joy of these good people, 
hugged by the mother and daughter, licked by the dog, 
at last found himself in the house, which was extremely 
simple but admirable in its neatness, seated at the family 
table and filled with a tranquil satisfaction to which, for 
months past, he had been a stranger. 

He went to bed early, after thanking his kind hosts. 
He arose late the next morning, breakfasted, looked 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


97 


around the farm, made acquaintance with Agostino’s 
brother-in-law, who was a famous hunter, with his sister, 
who was a good housewife, and played with little Marietta, 
who had been watching him with her sharp black eyes 
since the preceding evening and smiling at him with her 
white teeth, but never approaching him without a display 
of wild timidity. Evening was surprisingly quick in com- 
ing, and he had accomplished nothing except enjoying the 
animal pleasure of living. When he was alone in his bed- 
room, stretched upon a mattress of fresh corn-husks, be- 
fore going to sleep, he laughed at himself : 

“ I am leading here the admirable life of the shepherds,” 
he thought, “ and I am about to give myself a new heart 
and a new brain. What would my friends and compan- 
ions say if they saw me given over to this idyl? Well! 
they would say that the Madonna, in whom all those 
about me here believe so unquestionably, has visibly pro- 
tected me. Pierre Laurier, you were in a bad way, my 
boy. You have got out of it by a miracle. Profit by the 
favor that Providence has shown you, enjoy the time 
which is yours, and use it profitably by working industri- 
ously, which, until now, you have seldom had the oppor- 
tunity of doing. You are treated better than you de- 
serve ... be grateful.” 

In the midst of these sage reflections he fell asleep and 
dreamed that he was painting a picture in which the evil 
angel had the charming and diabolical features of Cl^- 
mence Villa, and the good angel, the pure countenance of 
Mademoiselle de Vignes. Then the image of Jacques, 
with his blond hair and melancholy eyes, appeared upon 
the canvas and became fixed there. Cl^mence ap- 
proached the young consumptive and whispered to him 


98 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


with animation ; gradually she enwrapped him in her 
arms, taking possession of him, and the sick man grew 
pale, his eyes became deeper set and more sombre, his 
lips more livid. Then the painter’s eyes, turning upon 
Juliette, beheld her sad, mortally sad, her hands joined 
in the attitude of prayer, and it was not for her brother 
that she was praying : another name came to her lips, and 
Pierre divined that it was his own. He wished to hasten 
to her, reassure her, console her, but Jacques’ arm was ex 
tended between them like an obstacle, and from his lips 
fell these words : 

“ You gave me your soul ; you can no longer call your- 
self your own. You have no right to reappear.” 

Then Pierre drew back and the picture gradually faded 
away, and soon he could only distinguish little Marietta, 
with her wild countenance and her black hair, tending 
her goats in the pasture shaded by old chestnut trees. 
The night passed in these feverish visions, but in the morn- 
ing Pierre’s calmness returned to him and he went away 
on a hunting excursion with Agostino and his brother-in- 
law. Thus the time slipped away, and at the end of the 
week the sailor declared that it was necessary for him to 
go on board his vessel. He would be away three weeks, 
and expected to find his preserver there on his return, he 
said. 

Pierre’s position in Agostino’s family was now the same 
as if he were in his own home. These humble peasants 
manifested toward him a sincerity of affection such as he 
had not often met with. He had only a half-formed de- 
sire to go away ; he therefore allowed himself to be per- 
suaded and remained. He commenced the portrait of 
the little goat-herd, and amidst this tranquillity and this 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. ' 99 

magnificent scenery his reconquered inspiration had blos- 
somed out in all its freshness and with added grace and 
power. He worked steadily. every day until four o’clock, 
and after dinner the brother-in-law and his wife would 
come in, when he spent the evening in their company. 

The mayor of Torrevecchio, a rabid Bonapartist, having 
heard that a painter was staying in the country, had come, 
accompanied by his cur^., to try to prevail on Pierre to re- 
store the paintings in the church ; they dated back to the 
time of the Genoese occupation, had emanated from the 
brush of some Italian master and were quite remarkable. 
Laurier had accepted the commission, and not satisfied 
with retouching the damaged portions of the mural paint- 
ings in the little church, he had also undertaken the 
decoration of the chapel of the Virgin, which had just 
been newly reconstructed. 

Absorbed in his labors, hunting, fishing, not having a 
moment of spare time, he had regained such complete 
mastery over himself that it never occurred to him to 
think of the past. He would have blushed with shame 
had any one told him that one balmy night when the 
breeze brought comfort with it, when the murmuring sea 
and the resplendent heavens bore witness to the uni- 
versal harmony, a certain Pierre Laurier had deter- 
mined to take his life for the wicked eyes of a woman 
who was torturing him to death. He would have 
shrugged his shoulders, lighted his pipe, and sworn that 
in all the world there was only one thing that was worth 
a serious effort, and that was the hope of succeeding in 
giving its proper value to a figure seen in the light of the 
open air. And he winked his eye as he looked over his 
palette at little Marietta, who posed proudly, seated on a 


lOO 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 



chestnut log in the garden, her feet on the green grass, 
her dog lying at her feet. 

Agostino returned from a run to Leghorn, remained a 
few days, then went away again. Pierre seemed ac- 
climated and said nothing further about going away. He 


had purchased at Bastia such articles of furniture as were 
wanting in the house, the arrival of which had aroused 
the burning curiosity of the people in the hamlet. Every 
one recognized the difference in social condition that 
existed between the painter and his entertainers. The 
mayor and the cur6 had declared that Pierre was a su- 
perior man. His manners bespoke the dweller in great 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


lOI 


cities, his generosity denoted wealth. Who could he be ? 
Pierre was evidently only a Christian name. Was he 
keeping himself in hiding? and for what reason ? 

The mayor, impelled by curiosity, proceeded quietly to 
make an inquiry. The pr^fet of Ajaccio had already 
been informed by the sous-prefet of Bastia that a mys- 
terious person from the mainland was living with an 
humble family at Torrevecchio, that he had done some 
remarkable work in the church, that everything in his 
conduct and mode of life evinced the most perfect re- 
spectability, but that it might be of interest, nevertheless, to 
be assured of his identity. The administration went about 
the matter in a less formal manner, and simply ordered 
the police of Bastia to request the stranger to furnish his 
papers. 

Fortunately the officer took it into his head to go to 
the mayor’s office and tell the mayor the object of his 
errand. The latter, seeing his proceedings terminate in a 
brutal intrusion of public force into the life of the man 
whom he held in particular esteem, gave the officer, who 
could not avoid doing as he had done, a sound rating, 
sent him back to headquarters with a nice letter for the 
pr^fet, and saved Pierre, who was working away in all 
the candor of his soul, the sight of the police. And so 
they still remained in ignorance of the person with whom 
they had to deal. 

Pierre had been at Torrevecchio about two months, 
occupying himself with hunting, fishing and working, 
and had not only completed Marietta’s portrait and the 
paintings in the church, but two genre pictures as 
well, when, one day while he was away visiting the 
silver-mines over toward Calvi, a carriage coming 


102 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


from Bastia set down at the inn of Torrevecchio two 
travellers, accompanied by their servants, who called 
for breakfast. The proprietor, when questioned as to 
what objects of interest there were in the village, men- 
tioned the paintings in the church. The younger of the 



two travellers, whom his companion styled Doctor, went 
there alone. He stopped in front of a Resurrection, which 
he examined with close attention, and as the cur6 just 
then happened to be passing through the nave, he called 
him to him and said : 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. IO3 

“You have there, Monsieur le Cur^, a work of great 
merit from the hand of a Frenchman, for certainly the 
painter who did this work is not an Italian ?’' 

“Truly, monsieur, “ said the priest, “ he is a French- 
man.” 

“ What is his name ?” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ Ah !” said the doctor, “ he has remained unknown ?” 

“ But he lives here,” the cure continued, “ and . . .” 

The doctor looked surprised, and said with eagerness : 

“ He has 'been living here about two months, then ?’’ 
The stranger seemed to be making a mental calculation, 
and said to himself in a whisper : “ It is possible !” Then 
in his natural voice : “ Do you not at least know his 
Christian name ?” 

“ Yes, monsieur ; his name is Pierre.” 

“ Then he has chestnut hair, blue eyes, a blond mus- 
tache and is of middle height ?” the stranger eagerly in- 
quired. 

“ A blond mustache ? No,” said the priest, “ he wears 
a full beard ; but he has blue eyes and is not very tall.” 

“ It is he ! It is he himself !” the doctor exclaimed. 
“ Besides, there is po one else who could have painted this 
Resurrection.” 

“ You know this young man, monsieur?” the priest in- 
terrupted. “ Oh, if you would only tell us. . . ! ” 

“ Who he is ? I cannot do that, since it is his choice to 
remain unknown ; but I have the right to say to you that 
the man who did this work is one of the ornaments of the 
French school. But I will see him. . . . Where is he ?” 

“ He is absent for a few days.” 

“ And we have to leave to-morrow ! Never mind ; I 


104 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 

must let him know that I have been here.” He took the 
pencil from his memorandum-book, and as he was about 
to write on the whitewashed wall, turned to the priest and 
said : “ You have no objections. Monsieur le Cure ?” 

‘‘ Do as you will, monsieur,” the other replied. 

Thereupon the stranger traced these simple words 
under the Resurrection painted by Pierre : Et idem resur- 
rexit Petrus^ and beneath he signed his name, Davidoff ; 
then turning to the cur^, he said : “ When he returns, show 
him this inscription ; he will understand its meaning.” 

He made his salutation to the priest, returned to the 
inn, and said to his companion : 

“ My dear Count, you made a mistake in not coming 
out with me ; you missed a very curious circumstance.” 

“ What was that ?” 

I will tell you when we are on board again. In this 
place it is a secret.” 

The two travellers lighted their cigars, called for their 
carriage, and took their departure. 

The second day after this Pierre returned from his ex- 
cursion with Agostino’s brother-in-law ; he brought back 
a handsome pair of silver earrings for Marietta, and a belt 
and clasp for the mother. He made a good breakfast, and 
was preparing to go to work, when the Cur6 pushed open 
the screen door and entered the room. 

Ah ! it is Monsieur le Cure,” exclaimed Pierre. To 
what do we owe the pleasure of your visit ?” 

“ A message for you with which I have been en 
trusted.” 

Indeed ! From whom?” 

A stranger.” 



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!lf -diu.::!-,:;: : Jn: -s l.s^ "■> T 1 M jlilf i]' 


’J'l'v,*;.’. 

• •t5r.«/*M|H-.,;j.;?.«:':»{ !. . 

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WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. IO5 

Pierre’s face darkened, and in a rather unsteady voice 
he said : “ Let us see, please, what it is all about.” 

If you will go with me to the church, you will learn 
more quickly and more fully there.” 

“ I am at your service.” 

He took his hat and went out with the priest ; on the 
way he did not speak a word. As they were approaching 
the main square, the Cure said : 

This stranger saw your paintings, and he told me that 
you have enriched our church with a work of inestimable 
value.’' 

Pierre made no reply, but shook his head carelessly ; he 
hurried forward, as if anxious to learn with whom he had 
to deal. He crossed the nave, came to his Resurrection, 
and with an emotion that he could not restrain read upon 
the wall the inscription : Et idem resurrexit Petrus . . . 
Davidoff. He sighed, repeated in a husky voice, “ Da- 
vidoff,” and stood lost in thought. 

The cur^, behind him, broke the silence, translating the 
Latin sentence: 

“ Peter, also, is risen. Then there has been divine inter- 
vention in your case ? My son, you should give thanks to 
God.” 

Pierre passed his hand across his forehead, smiled at 
the priest, who was watching him with a face expressive 
of wonder, and in a deep voice said : 

“ Yes, there has been divine intervention in my case. 
. . . And God be praised for it.” 

He again gave himself up to his reflections, seemingly 
revisiting his past, then gently said : 

“ Monsieur le Cure, I thank you for the trouble you 
have taken ; what you have shown me is of great interest 


I 06 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

to me. Au revoir^ M. le Cure.” And with bowed head 
and lingering step he returned to the house of Agostino’s 
mother. 

The next day one of the boys who served mass 
brought him a letter posted at Ajaccio with this address : 
“ M. Pierre, through the kindness of M. le Cur6 of Tor- 
revecchio.” He opened it with a sinking heart ; it con- 
tained these lines : 

“ My dear friend : You are still of this world ; I could not 
have experienced a more agreeable surprise. It was I who 
took upon myself the painful duty of conveying to Beau- 
lieu the note in which you announced your fatal resolution, 
which has happily remained unexecuted. He ta whom 
you gave your soul, by a miracle of mental suggestion or 
by a sudden revival of confidence, feels that he has a new 
lease of life and is much better, but a person who is very 
near to him came near dying on account of your death. In 
the depths of your retreat, know that you were very near 
to happiness without being aware of it, but that it is still 
possible to regain it. Sincerely your friend, 

“ Davidoff.” 

Having read the letter, Pierre folded it, put it in his 
pocket and left the house. Thoughtfully he followed the 
Bastia road and came out at a point facing the sea. Calm 
and blue it lay beneath the sun, stretching as far as the 
eye could reach. In the distance boats were sailing to 
and fro in the ardent light, so slowly that they scarcely 
seemed to move. The young man seated himself on a 
fragment of rock, and as on the evening when he had de- 
termined to kill himself, reflected. 

Litjle by little Jacques’ face reproduced itself in his 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. lO/ 

memory, and it was no longer pale and sombre ; the brill- 
iancy of youth and the joy of health shone in all his fea- 
tures ; he was going about, strong and well, passionately 
enjoying life. He was walking, with an air of exuberant 
vitality, upon the terrace of the house at Beaulieu, among 
the reviving verdure. All things in nature were awaking 
at the first warm breath of spring, and Jacques, more vigor- 
ous than the plants, more blooming than the flowers, was 
resplendent with a new beauty. Suddenly Juliette ap- 
peared at his side, and now it was she who was emaciated 
and melancholy. Her charming eyes were surrounded by 
black circles, her cheeks had lost their roundness and her 
smile had the distressing gentleness of a last farewell. 

Pierre shuddered to the very depths of his being. It 
seemed to him that the young girl’s sorrowful look, 
turned constantly upon the sea, was seeking upon the 
blue waves traces of him which she was unable to find. 
He beheld her wasting away with grief for the loss of 
him, this child whose love he had divined for a moment 
and then cast aside. He heard a voice whispering in his 
ear: “ It is you who are the cause of her tears, her suffer- 
ing, and her decline. You were told of it: she is dying 
on account of your death. You had only to speak a word 
and this chaste heart, where your image is enshrined, 
would have opened itself to you ; it would have been peace 
secured, happiness assured ; through your own fault you 
have lost them. Why do you tarry to regain them ? 
Will you allow her who weeps for you to go down into 
the cold grave? You have only to appear before her, she 
will revive. Come ! Up and begin your life anew ! Your 
future is in your hands, since you .have her love.” 

A sob rose to his lips and tears trickled from his eyes, 


I08 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

the first that he had shed since those shameful ones that 
Cl^mence Villa had extorted from him. But not for long 
did he give way to this weakness. He determined to 
probe the very bottom of his heart and question what was 
there. Had his austere retirement purified and regene- 
rated him ? Did he feel himself capable of leading a new 
life ? Would he be able to resist temptation should it be 
placed before him ? He shuddered. A pale, brown face 
with shining eyes and red lips had appeared before him. 
She laughed, a sardonic laugh, as she had done on the 
evening when he made up his mind to die. Why w'as she 
laughing thus, with her white teeth and the little dimples 
at the corners of her mouth ? Was it at him? Did she 
believe herself certain of bringing him back to her feet 
whenever she might take the fancy ? Was he, then, still 
her slave ? 

He was afraid. His weakness had been so great, his 
follies so disastrous, so utter his cowardice, so deep his 
degradation! A cold sweat came out upon .his forehead 
and his heart throbbed with anguish at the thought of 
again falling into the power of that cold and cruel courte- 
san ; a second time he looked death in the face and de- 
cided that it would be preferable to such abjectness. He 
mournfully declined his head upon his two open hands, 
and in the splendor of the dying day, in the midst of the 
grandeur and serenity of this tranquil scenery, he re- 
mained facing the sea, reflecting. 

Gradually his thoughts became clarified, and he who had 
not prayed since childhood, beholding himself so lonely, 
sad, and forsaken, raised his eyes toward Heaven. He 
asked nothing for himself ; whatever might be his fate, 
however hard and wretched it might be, he accepted it 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. lOg 

unreservedly ; but was not this pure and gentle child inno- 
cent, and was it not fitting that she should be spared ? 
For her he solicited hope and implored an alleviation of 
her suffering. Since the happiness was his of being loved 
by her, at least might she be granted strength to wait un- 
til his heart was purified of its stains. Could celestial just- 
ice refuse him this grace ? He was so carried away that 
in the loneliness of the place he uttered his words of suppli- 
cation aloud. 

Suddenly his attention was attracted by an occurrence 
which instantaneously symbolized his hopes and fears. 
From a point of rocks that ran out into the sea at his 
feet a turtle-dove had flown forth in affright, and a gold- 
en eagle was soaring above her in pursuit. She was fly- 
ing with all the speed that she was capable of, but the 
fierce plunderer was gaining on her, sending forth a 
piercing cry at every stroke of his powerful wings. Pierre 
was struck by the occurrence, and said to himself : It is 
an omen. If the bird of prey is victorious, it means that 
all is lost for Juliette and myself; if the dove escapes, it 
means that I am to hope, to strengthen myself so as to 
appear again before her, worthy of happiness.” 

From the moment when he had thus clearly formulated 
the problem of his destiny he ceased to breathe, follow- 
ing with an eager eye the struggle of the two birds. The 
eagle had stooped, he was now flying almost above the 
dove, threatening her with his keen beak and livid talons. 
In her terror, the poor bird directed her course toward 
a little grove of holm-oaks, hoping to find concealment 
there, but her fierce enemy, divining her intention, accel- 
erated his speed. Pierre, with sinking heart and trem- 
bling hands, would fain have given of his strength to aid 


I lO 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


the turtle-dove ; he saw the moment approaching when 
she must fall. Already the murderer was about to seize 
his victim, when a thin cloud of white smoke arose above 
the trees of the grove, and at the same time a dull report 
was heard. The eagle had received his death-wound ; he 



fell to the ground, turning over and over, while the dove 
disappeared in safety among the foliage. 

Pierre uttered an exclamation of delight ; thus the re- 
sponse to his request had been immediate and startling. 
Destiny had manifested its intervention in a manner that 
there was no denying. The invisible hunter, too, whose 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 


III 


bair had solved the question, had he not been led to that 
spot in order to put an end to his torments ? But by a 
sudden return of his old-time scoffing nature, he began 
to laugh at the idea that a musket-shot, fired at a bird, 
could settle so many things. He shook his Head and 
said : 

“ Work, work : therein lies the true remedy. Ever since 
I gave it up, I have, been lost. I have devoted myself to 
it afresh, and it will be my salvation.” 

The sun was going down into the sea, red as a huge 
furnace. Pierre arose, and with a heart at rest returned 
to the village. 


IV. 



It was the first Sunday of the carnival, and the Casino 
of Nice, brilliantly illuminated, had opened its doors for 
the grand veglione. In the Place Massena, watching the 


maskers as they entered the building, there was a throng 
of sight-seers massed about the burlesque throne on 
which for the two preceding days King Carnival had sat 
in solemn state, attired in his bespangled robes and hold- 
ing in his hand the sceptre, emblem of the reign of folly. 


II2 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 13 

The orchestra was roaring with the full power of all its 
brasses, and the rhythm of waltzes and quadrilles came 
out through the open windows in joyous gusts, mingled 
with the buzz and murmur of the crowd which rolled its 
waves hither and thither in the immense structure, de- 
voted for the whole of that night to caprice and fancy. 

On entering the building the eye fell upon a forest” of 
plants on which streamed the light of countless lamps. 
A rout of elegant dominos of every conceivable color, 
masked or with face displayed, was moving about in the 
great vestibule, men and women engaged in piquant 
intrigues in which question and answer flew fast and 
thick as a volley of arrows, amid shouts of laughter, 
while the ladies fled with coquettish slowness before the 
ardent pursuit of their admirers. In the main hall 
orchestra and parquet were floored over for dancing, as 
at the Bal de I’Op^ra, and the boxes were devoted to con- 
versation and gallantry. All the pretty and attractive 
women of Monaco, Nice, and Cannes were gathered there, 
the old guard and the young, ready to storm the lines of 
the battalion of fast men out for a night of pleasure, par- 
tially opening their satin dominos to afford a peep at 
dazzling shoulders and bare white arms, raising their 
velvet masks to show the charm of their laughing lips 
and the archness of their glance. 

The doors of the boxes slammed, the rustling of silk 
was heard, and elegant forms appeared in the corridors, 
bevies of women on their way to the foyer in search of 
adventures. Witty sayings flew thick and fast, jests ex- 
ploded like fire-crackers, and forthwith a crowd would 
surround the antagonists, who disguised their voices as 
well as they were able, so as to baffle curiosity, while at 


1 14 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

the same time they enjoyed the pleasure of attracting at- 
tention. Little groups of young men went by, the inevi 
table flower in their button-hole and their brilliant dom- 
inos trailing after them like a cloak. Groups of women 
ran up against them, and then would follow an exchange 
of pleasantries. 

Standing in a corner, with his back to the wall, sur- 
rounded by five or six of his friends, Prince Patrizzi was 
chatting, and watching the ebb and flow of the tide of 
masks as they streamed along the corridor. Assisted 
by his staff of men about town, he was engaged in guess- 
ing at the names of the women who, believing their in- 
cognito secure beneath their protecting veils of lace, 
were amusing themselves without restraint. He had al- 
ready identified several great ladies and a certain number 
of pretty girls, when he uttered an exclamation of sur- 
prise : 

“ Hallo ! If there isn’t Jacques de Vignes !” 

It was Jacques, in very truth, dazzling, superb, bright 
of complexion and clear of eye, behind him floating his 
blue domino which gave him the air of a gallant cavalier 
of the Renaissance. He came forward with outstretched 
hand, smiling and happy, such as those whom he advanced 
to meet had known him two years before, and not de- 
jected and stooping as at the opening of the season, that 
evening when Doctor Davidoff had related such fantastic 
stories after a merry dinner-party. The resurrection was 
complete, triumphal, almost insolent, so ostentatiously did 
Jacques display his miraculously recovered, victorious 
youth. 

“You are quite well again, Jacques.?” the Prince in- 
quired. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. II5 

“ Entirely so,” replied the young man, as you may 
see for yourself.” 

“ Thanks to this climate that has restored you to your- 
self and to us, for you were a good fellow, and will be so 
again.” 

The young man settled himself against the column at 
the side of Patrizzi, letting his eyes wander over the 
motley throng that was streaming noisily by. 

“ I enjoy life, my dear Prince,” he said with warmth. 
“ I enjoy life as only one can who has believed that he 
was near losing it. You have never been seriously ill ; 
you know nothing of the melancholy languor that gener- 
ally takes possession of the mind as the bodily strength 
wastes away. All nature seems shrouded in black crape, 
so sadly and so gloomily does one look at everything. 
The few moments of happiness are embittered by the 
thought that they may be the last that will be offered for 
our enjoyment, and the more beautiful and peaceful are our 
surroundings, the more one is tempted to curse and execrate 
them. I have been through it all, and you may believe 
me : there can be nothing more cruel, more excruciating. 
And so now, after. coming out of hell, I am in paradise. 
I am pleased, charmed, enchanted by everything; I have 
learned to know the value of happiness, and I am capable 
of extracting all its enjoyment. The sun appears brighter 
to me, the flowers have a sweeter perfume, women are 
more attractive . . . there is an awakening of my capacity 
for admiration going on within me, powerful and deli- 
cious. I came near dying, and it is from that point that 
really dates my love of life !” 

“ Good !” said Patrizzi, “ it is a pleasure to listen to 
you. Your recovery was really wonderful. Now that I 


Il6 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

think of it, what is the strange story that has been going 
the rounds on this subject ? Did not some one make you 
a present of a brand-new soul ? Davidoff asserted that 
it was not you who were living, but your friend Laurier, 
and he added that you were in great luck, for Pierre was 
one of those who live to a hundred !” The Prince let 
forth a peal of laughter which made Jacques turn pale 
and brought the perspiration out in beads upon his fore- 
head. 

“ I beg you,” said the young man,' “ say no more on 
that subject. Laurier was the companion of my boyhood, 
and it will be long ere I shall cease to feel his loss. At 
any rate, if I were occupying his place in life, the world 
would have gained nothing by the exchange, for Pierre was 
an artist of incomparable talent, while I am nothing but 
an useless drone.” 

As he uttered these words in an abrupt and feverish 
tone, Jacques’ pallor had become more pronounced. 
Circles formed about his eyes, and his features suddenly 
contracted so as to bring out»his cheek-bones and his teeth 
in bold relief. He was seized with a sort of nervous 
trembling, as if the fever were upon him. He bit his lips, 
that had become quite livid, and forced a smile to his 
face ; but for a moment’s space, instead of the cheerful 
appearance of a .man in sound health, he presented to 
his friends the funereal image of one in the agonies of 
death. Presently, however, the blood mounted to the 
cheeks again, his glance became animated, the smile re- 
turned to his lips, and Jacques was again what he had 
been when he entered the room, dazzling and superb. It 
seemed to be his desire to banish some painful impression 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. II7 


from his mind, and taking a few steps, he exclaimed with 
a gayety that was rather forced : 

“ What a charming evening, and how well adapted for 



pleasure ! Outdoors all is noise and merriment, and here 
all is charm and seductiveness !” 


As he finished speaking, a white domino, leaving the 
group with which she had been talking, came up and ad- 
dressed him in a disguised voice: 


Il8 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

Charm and seductiveness, you say ? Let us see how 
your actions will correspond with your words.” 

The domino cast a flashing look upon Jacques through 
the holes in her mask, and the young man felt a lithe arm 
passed through his. He made no resistance, and in a 
bantering tone : “ So you hanker after experiences, my 
pretty one ?” he inquired. Well ! charm me and I will 
seduce you. No doubt the one will be no more difficult 
than the other.” 

The domino gave him a caressing tap upon the cheek 
with her fan and replied : I forgive you the imper- 
tinence in favor of the compliment !” 

Jacques gave his friends a knowing smile and dis- 
appeared in the throng with his conquest. 

‘‘ Well, Patrizzi, you know them all ; tell us the name 
of the woman that carried de Vignes away from us.” 

“ Parhleu! May the devil carry me off if it was not 
Clemence Villa !” 

It did not take her very long to forget poor Laurier,” 
said one of those about the Prince. 

But Jacques has not forgotten him. Did you observe 
how badly he. felt when I mentioned his friend’s name ? 
His countenance, the instant before so smiling, fresh and 
rosy, lost color and became quite distorted. It was hor- 
rible — it was like a death’s-head with painted cheeks. 
Our friend Davidoff, you will remember, depicted with 
singular exactness the moral state of the sick man who was 
cured by the means of confidence. The edifice of this 
cure is unsubstantial, he told us in conclusion : a word 
would suffice to lay it in ruins. Should the passionate 
conviction which has served to endow Jacques with new 
life lose its force, he would sink again as low, or even 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 19 

lower than we have ever seen him. It is a kind of witch- 
craft acting upon him and sustaining him. He is pos- 
sessed by an idea, and that idea gives him prodigious 
strength.” 

“ That is the kind of thing that assures success to char- 
latans, quacks, and foreign doctors with rosettes of many 
colors and doubtful titles, who speculate on the burning 
desire of sick people to be reassured.” 

“ And then there are make-believe sick men who recover 
very easily, and our friend Jacques seems to be of that 
category.” 

Patrizzi shook his head gravely. “ I hope so for his 
mother’s sake,” he said. His words were interrupted by 
loud shouts : a band of masks was pushing its way 
through the crowd amid exclamations and. peals of laugh- 
ter. The group of which the Neapolitan was the centre 
opened to let them pass, and each of the young men took 
himself off whithersoever his pleasure called him. 

Jacques, with his new-found companion on his arm, had 
followed the corridor of the boxes, examining with curiosity 
the masked and hooded woman, who led him onward 
with a rapid step, as if she feared to be recognized and 
accosted. Upon reaching one of the proscenium boxes 
she struck two sharp blows upon the wooden door. An- 
other woman opened for them, and, standing aside with a 
silent smile, allowed them to enter ; then she went out, 
discreetly closing the door behind her. 

Jacques and the domino found themselves alone in the 
salon behind the box. The young man approached his 
companion, and encircling her waist with his arm, endeav- 
ored to throw back her hood and remove her mask, but 


120 


IVI/AT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


she straightened her form with willowy flexibility, and 
pressing her bust against Jacques’ chest and turning sud- 
denly on her little heels with a rustle of silk, escaped from 
his grasp and stood at a little distance eying him defi- 
antly, her eyes flashing through the holes in the satin 
and her teeth gleaming beneath the fall of lace. She was 
so alluring as she stood there that* he darted forward and 
seized her again, and putting his lips to the provoking 
mouth with its voluptuous folds, gave her a kiss which 
she returned with interest. He would have retained her 
in this position, but a second time she slipped from his 
embrace, and advancing toward the front of the box, said, 
still in a disguised voice and threatening him with her 
finger : 

‘‘ Be good, or I will send you back to* your friends.” 

“ How can I be good when I am with you ?” he ex- 
claimed with a smile. Ask me to do something that is 
practicable ; don’t call on me for impossibilities.” 

“You must obey me, however, or I will go away and 
we shall see each other no more.” 

“ And if I consent to all your exactions, we shall meet 
again ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

She seated herself upon the sofa that was in the box 
and threw herself back, disclosing as she did so between 
her mask and her domino a neck that had the whiteness 
of ivory, and beneath the lace of her hood an ear that had 
the delicate form and color of a rose-petal. He took a 
seat at her side with respectful coldness, although he was 
trembling with desire, to such an extent had this myste- 
rious and seductive creature in a few minutes succeeded in 
disturbing his senses. He took her hand and gently re- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


I2I 


moved the glove, then carried the slender white fingers to 
his mouth and began to kiss them, one after another, with 
caressing devotion. Finally he reached the wrist and the 
tapering arm, grazing with his mustache the satin-like 
flesh that thrilled slightly beneath his ardent touch. 

Thus they remained for some seconds, not daring to 
look at each other, their eyes vaguely wandering, their 
ears filled with the tumult of the orchestra, which was 
letting loose all its instruments in a mad quadrille. The 
cadenced sound of feet beating the floor, the cries and 
loud laughter of the dancers filled the hall with jovial 
racket, and buried in the depths of this darkened box, 
pressing closely to each other’s side, Jacques and the 
masked woman were in absolute solitude, more untram- 
melled than if silence had reigned about them or than if 
they were in an untenanted room. In coaxing tones he 
said to her in a very low voice : 

“ It seems to me that you are not unknown to me, and 
that I have been in your company before. Won’t you let 
me see your face ? I am sure that you have nothing to 
lose by it. You are young, and certainly you are pretty. 
Have you reasons for concealing your identity?” 

She nodded her head affirmatively. 

“ Even from me ?” 

She again nodded “ yes,” but her moist hand gave his 
a warmer pressure, and her trembling palm was locked in 
his. So great was the charm that emanated from her 
perfumed, supple and voluptuous form that the young 
man drew nearer to her and, almost at her feet, clasped 
her in his arms. She did not repulse him, and her heart 
beating wildly, her breath coming short and quick, quite 
carried away and yet upon her guard against him, she 


122 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


remained in his embrace, surrendering to him her waist 
and shoulders, but jealously protecting her face, of which 
she would not permit him to violate the secret. 

“Where have I seen you?” the young man asked. 
“Was it here, or was it in Paris?” 

She did not answer. He continued : “ Do you live in 
Nice?” 

She remained speechless. He said : “ Still, I have met 
you somewhere. Have I ever made love to you ?” 

A slight smile appeared on the woman’s lips. She put 
a little distance between herself and Jacques, looked at 
him complacently, and said in a low voice : “You are very 
curious !” 

“ How can I help being so? I know that I shall adore 
you, and you are surprised that I should wish to know 
who you are ! I shall know to-morrow, or day after to- 
morrow, or next week ; why, then, not gratify me now, 
this very moment, by letting me see your face? Do you 
wish me to love you without knowing you ?” 

She whispered : “ Perhaps so.” 

“Do you incur any danger by associating with me? 
Have you reason to fear any one’s jealousy ? Or are you 
in doubt as to my discretion ?” 

She made no motion, leaving him free to make his se- 
lection from his romantic suppositions. 

He smiled, and went on in a passionate strain : 

“ Have your own way ! I will love you as you are, un- 
known, masked, mysterious. What I shall love in you 
will not be a woman, but womankind. I shall not know 
who you are, but I will hold you to my heart. Your lips 
will not have whispered your name, but I will kiss those 
lips. Your eyes will not betray to me your secret thoughts, 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 23 

but they will shed tears of tenderness, and clasped in my 
embrace, in spite of yourself, you will be mine.” 

As he spoke thus, he pressed her more closely to 
his side, and their breath mingled. Jacques was envel- 
oped and intoxicated by an indescribable odor that dis- 
turbed his senses. Again his daring arm enwrapped her 
throbbing waist. The unknown, writhing as if she were 
in the flames of a blazing furnace, threw back her head 
upon the young man’s shoulder, pressed her lips to his 
neck and bit him, uttering a wild, stifled cry. Her eyes 
were staring and sightless, her lips had lost their color, 
when her capuchon^ disarranged by the fierceness of the 
embrace, fell back upon her head, and her mask was torn 
away and disclosed her features. 

In an instant Jacques was upon his feet ; he took a step 
backward and exclaimed with consternation : 

CMmence Villa !” 

The actress recovered .her senses upon hearing her 
name pronounced. She looked at her companion, who, 
motionless and pale, was devouring her with his glances ; 
with a rapid movement she threw back her domino, and 
disclosing herself in all the lustre of her radiant beauty : 
“ You wished to learn who I am,” she said in a low voice ; 
“ now you know.” 

He bowed his head and mournfully said: “ It is but a 
very little time since poor Pierre killed himself for your 
sake !” 

“For my sake!” she quickly replied. “Are you very 
sure of that ?” 

Jacques became paler still, and, casting upon Cl^mence 
a frightened look, said : “ Do you think that it was for 
some one else?” 


124 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 


“ Do you not know that it was ?” 

He turned away from her, but she approached him and, 
seizing his arm with an audacious assumption of authority. 



exclaimed : It was in my house that his last night on 
earth was spent ; it was to me that his last words were 
addressed. I know what no one, not even Davidoff him- 
self, knows. Pierre, weary of his stormy life, disappointed 
in his artistic expectations and seeing nothing to hope for 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 125 

in the future, fell into a state of moral decadence and, in 
obedience to some mystical superstition or other, offered 
his life as the price of the salvation of one dear . . 

“ Be silent !” interrupted Jacques, in a tone that was 
almost menacing. 

“ Why ? Are you afraid of his ghost ? It would not 
be either angry or ill-disposed toward you. He knew 
that I loved you. In his final paroxysm of disenchant- 
ment he said to me : ‘ He will love you better than I ever 
did, and if anything of what I once was shall subsist in 
him, it will be to me a remembrance of earth, and I shall 
thrill with delight in my grave.’ ” 

The young man looked at her with horror as she uttered 
this sacrilegious lie. His legs gave way beneath him and 
he sank down upon the sofa, deprived of all his strength, 
as if he were about to faint. She bent down, and wrap- 
ping him in her arms as in bonds that he could not break, 
penetrating him with her warmth, intoxicating him with 
her perfume, rendering him dizzy : “ He gave you to me,” 
she said. “ You are mine by reason of his will, and 
nothing can bring it to pass that you shall not love me, 
for it is he that loves me in your person.” 

And Jacques felt that she was speaking the truth, and 
that a mysterious force was already at work attracting 
him to this woman, as if Pierre had made over to him his 
unconquerable passion together with his soul. He re- 
volted against this tyranny, however, and forgetful of his 
voluptuous intoxication, his prayers and his desires, he 
would have turned away from her whom he had urged 
with such ardor when she was unknown to him. He 
would not obey his dead friend ; he would not consent to 
be his executor to carry into effect his posthumous 


126 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


caprices. Somewhat of his courage, coolness and reso- 
lution returned to him ; he arose, and displaying to Cl^- 
mence a tranquil countenance : All your incantations are 
powerless upon me, beautiful sorceress !” he said. “ Be_ 
sides, it was useless to have recourse to the influence of 
spirits to establish your domination ; your eyes and lips 
would have been sufficient. You did very wrong in 
mingling your sorceries with love. Now I am afraid of 
your love-charms . . .” 

“I shall have no need of using them with you,” 
calmly said Clemence, “ and whatever you attempt to do, 
whether you wish it or whether you do not wish it, you 
will love me.” 

He was opening his mouth to say no ; she closed it 
with a hasty and impassioned kiss ; then, without giving 
him time to recover from his disturbance, she made her 
way to the door, lightly as a charming phantom, and left 
the box. 

When alone Jacques devoted a moment to reflection. 
The ball went on, noisy and tumultuous, raising clouds of 
dust which floated in the light of the chandeliers like golden 
motes. The spectators in the boxes, their elbows sup- 
ported by the velvet-covered rails, formed animated and 
brilliant groups. The warmth, the gayety and tumult of 
the scene produced an impression of intense life. The 
young man’s mind suddenly reverted to his miserable 
and painful existence of a few weeks ago, and he was filled 
with a great delight at the thought that he had regained 
his health and that he was again strong and free to do as 
he pleased on this night of pleasure, after he had so bit- 
terly deplored his lost youth. 

How often he had said to himself, with gloomy long- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


127 



ing: “ If ever I succeed in throwing off the fetters of my 
weakness, if I regain my strength and cease to bend my 
head each day more sadly toward my grave, how well I 
will employ every hour of grace thus granted me by des- 


tiny !” And now this dream was realized ; the miracle 
so ardently longed for had produced its fantastic effect. 
Death had passed his victim by, or rather he had taken 
another victim, handsomer, more brilliant, more re- 
nowned than he. 


128 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


Then Pierre Laurier’s pale face arose before Jacques' 
memory. His eyes tight closed, a bitter smile upon his 
lips and shades of violet on his temples, the painter was 
sleeping his last sleep, tossed by the blue waves, caressed 
by floods of light. The everlasting murmur of old ocean, 
the mournful shrieking of the wind formed his lullaby, 
and now borne on the summit of some mountain wave, 
now sinking out of sight in the intervening valley, he 
went ever on and on, a wanderer of the sea, forever parted 
from the land on which he had shed so many bitter tears. 
Jacques, in his mind’s eye, followed with his glance this 
body, a human derelict, terrified by the appalling vision 
and still selfishly comforted by the thought that his friend 
was indeed dead, since it was from his life that he drew 
his own life. He determined to rid himself of the night- 
mare that was oppressing him so painfully ; he arose and 
broke the spell. 

He beheld before him only the great hall filled with 
spectators, at his feet the dancing-floor held by a motley 
throng of masks. What he had taken for the murmur of 
the waves was the trampling of their feet and the dead- 
ened sound of their voices ; the plaint of the winds was 
the strains of the orchestra. There had been no phan- 
tom : it was all reality. He again felt himself full of 
strength and ardor — and Pleasure was there, beckoning 
to him. 

He passed his hand across his forehead, forced his fea- 
tures to relax into a smile, and opening the door of the 
box, went forth into the corridor and mingled gayly with 
the surrounding groups. Near the foyer he came across 
Patrizzi, flirting with a woman. He went up to him and 
addressed him as blithely as in the best days of his fast 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 29 

life : “ Shall we have supper, Prince ? You must have a 
dozen or so of people to bring with you. I believe that 
we have got all the amusement from this little fete that 
it is capable of affording. Suppose we go ?” 


“ What have you done with the domino that carried 
you off so boldly a little while ago ?” the Prince inquired. 
“ Did you invite her? Will she be of out party? 

Faith ! I sent her about her business.” 

“ She wasn’t entertaining?” 


130 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

“ Funereal 

“ Didn’t she make an appointment with you for to- 
morrow ?” 

“ Yes, but I shall not go.” 

Just as these words fell from his lips a sea of masks 
rolled into the corridor and a harsh laugh was heard. 
Jacques turned pale. He looked about him with terror, 
seeking a white domino, but all that he could see was a 
group of young men passing by and pursuing some 
women in costume. A voice whispered in his ear : Why 
do you play the braggadocio and lie? You know that 
you will keep that appointment,” and it seemed to him 
that the voice was that of Clemence Villa. He turned ; 
there was no one near him but Patrizzi. I am becom- 
ing mad,” he said to himself. He took the Prince’s arm, 
and with feverish eagerness : “ Let us go !” he said, and 
dragged his companion away. 

When he awoke the next morning about eleven 
o’clock in his bedroom in the villa at Beaulieu, he had 
only a vague recollection of what had occurred the night 
before. He remembered that he had drunk an enormous 
quantity of champagne and that he had played the piano 
for the women to dance by. With the exception of this 
choreographic episode, all was veiled in propitious dark- 
ness. He had been brought home in a carriage by a 
friend who was returning to Eze. What had he said ? 
What had he done ? That was a mystery, and he made 
no effort to fathom it. 

Stretched upon his bed, his eyes bathed in the bright 
sunlight which entered the room in floods through the 
windows, he was conscious of an exquisite sense of well- 
being. His head was clear, his breathing regular, his cir- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. I3I 

culation normal, and he abandoned himself with delight 
to that recumbent position that had appeared so detesta- 
ble to him when racked by fits of coughing that left him 
perspiring, weak, and dejected. He had supped, had 
come home late, had enjoyed one of those rackets 
which had formerly cost him a week of illness and pros- 
tration, and here he was, strong and healthy. He had a 
feeling of profound satisfaction : it was indeed the recov- 
ery that the doctors had so long promised him and of 
which he had nevertheless had so many cruel doubts. 

He lay there enjoying the sensation of living ; then, 
leaping suddenly from his bed, he began to dress. He 
went about the room, humming a tune, joyously, free 
from all care. He raised the sash of his window and the 
warm air came in caressingly ; the perfume of clematis 
came up and saluted his nostrils. Walking slowly upon 
the terrace, as he had done at the opening of the season, 
he beheld his sister. 

Her sad face was turned toward the ground ; and, with 
her dress of sombre hue, seemed to be in mourning for 
herself, for her health and youth and spirits. The 
contrast was so striking that Jacques could not repress a 
sigh. Pain and suffering had left him, but as if a victim 
were absolutely necessary to them, they had alighted 
upon poor Juliette, and just as he was rising, bright and 
strong, she was sinking, pale and weak. The nature of 
the illness from which she was suffering was unknown. 
From the day when Doctor Davidoff had brought them 
the fatal news of Pierre’s death, the child’s condition had 
gone on getting constantly worse and worse. An invin- 
cible languor had taken possession of her, and never 
complaining, seeking always to be alone, she seemed 



132 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

glad of the suffering that was leading her with such 
rapid strides to the end of her existence. It displeased 
her to hear her health mentioned, and when she was 


with her mother and her brother she would make an effort 
to shake off her melancholy ; as soon as she was alone, 
however, she again became the prey of her sadness. 

She was now left to herself and was walking wearily in 
the garden, where her black dress formed a sombre 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 33 

contrast with the brilliancy of the verdure and the 
flowers and the clear blue of the sky. Jacques went 
downstairs. His mother was in the drawing-room. He 
went up to her and kissed her. She looked at him closely, 
and seeing how dazzling he was with youth, she gave 
a happy smile. 

“ You came in very late, did you not ?” she said. “ It 
is not prudent to stay out all night when you are scarcely 
yet recovered." 

‘‘ It was so long since I had been out at night." 

“ I hope that you enjoyed yourself?" 

“ Immensely." 

Be careful of yourself, my child, and do not be un- 
grateful toward that Providence which has restored your 
health. I am sufficiently distressed by your sister’s con- 
dition ; do not give me additional cause for anxiety." 

“ Is she worse ?" 

‘^No; and if she were, how are we to know it? She 
never complains ; she does all that she can to conceal her 
despondency. But she cannot deceive me ; every day I 

can see her failing more and more Oh, if Davidoff, 

who did so much for you, were only here !" 

The young man grew pale as he listened to these 
words. He seemed to see the sardonic visage of the 
Russian doctor rising before him. What could Davidoff 
accomplish ? Were they going to ask him to perform 
another miracle? Jacques was well aware that medical 
science was powerless ; he had convinced himself of the 
hollowness of the methods that had been employed in 
his own case. The powerful aid that he had received 
had come to him from another and a mysterious world, 
but had not that aid been secured at the price of a fearful 


134 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

sacrifice ? Had it not been necessary that the blood of 
another should be spilled so that the blood in his own 
veins might be renewed and strengthened ? And was 
not the tradition of human holocausts, practised in 
ancient times upon the altars of the heathen gods, 
revived in all its integrity by this devotedness of a human 
being giving himself freely to death in order that it 
might be merciful toward another being, already desig- 
nated by its fatal finger for the grave? Could the 
miracle be performed a second time? And who would 
offer himself as the sacrifice ? Pierre had done it for 
him ; who would for her ? 

His reflections were interrupted by his mother’s voice: 

“ Besides, even if the doctor were here, would Juliette 
accept his treatment? When she is questioned she 
says that she is not ill, that she only feels a little tired 
and that there is no cause for uneasiness. But this 
indifferent way that she has of looking upon her case is 
just what worries me more than anything else, and I 
impute her prostration to a moral cause which causes me 
the greatest anxiety.” 

‘‘ A moral cause, you say ?” 

“ Yes ; the child has some secret grief, and notwithstand- 
ing the courage with which she conceals it, she cannot 
hide it from me. Every morning I see her come down 
more pale and wan from the insomnia from which she 
has suffered overnight, and this has been going on for 
the last two months. Oh ! I know the exact date when 
this sad condition of affairs began ; it is fixed firmly in my 
memory. It is a melancholy, and at the same time a 
happy one for me, for it marked the beginning of your 
convalescence and the commencement of your sister’s 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 35 

decline. Yes, Juliette received the blow that day when 
Doctor Davidoff came to tell us of Pierre Laurier’s 
death.” 

If Mme. de Vignes had looked at Jacques at that 
moment, she would have been terrified to see the spasm 


of anguish that contracted his features. His mother had 
told him in so many words what he had already told 
himself without caring to go to the bottom of his secret 
thought. Pierre’s end had had this twofold effect, at 
once beneficent and destructive : to him it had given life ; 
to Juliette, death. 


136 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

As this brutal fact presented itself more clearly to him, 
a feeling of anger arose in his heart against that innocent 
creature whose interests were so diametrically opposed to 
his own that that which was beneficial to him was fatal 
to her, and that it seemed impossible that the brother 
should continue to live without the death of the sister. 
A fantastic freak of his imagination showed him their 
twofold destiny symbolized under the horrible alternative 
of the gambling-table : red or black ? One the color of 
blood, the other the color of mourning. And if it was 
the red that came up, then Juliette should die; and if 
it was the black, then he should relapse into his har- 
rowing agony. 

A great wave of selfishness passed over him and he 
clung desperately to life. He felt that he was capable of 
doing anything to preserve it ; nothing would stop him, 
not even a crime. He was so cowardly as to raise his 
eyes toward the patient child who was walking pensively 
in the garden and say to himself with a base feeling of 
satisfaction : “ Two months ago it was I who was drag- 
ging myself wearily along that sunny terrace, and now I 
am strong and I can enjoy living. To-day I can throw 
to the winds all my regrets, all my repinings, which then 
appeared to be of so little avail, and give full scope to my 
every desire and hope. I came near losing all, and I 
have regained everything. Life and strength are mine, 
what matters the price at which I purchased them ?” 

In the deep silence of his conscience there rose no 
voice of protest against this deification of self. His heart 
was mute, his mind was shut against every generous 
thought. Nothing stirred within him at this frightful 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 137 

absolution that he accorded to himself for all the evil that 
his useless existence had caused, and was still to cause. 

In the midst of this moral impassibility, however, some 
words that Mme. de. Vignes had uttered startled him. 
His mother had said : “ I think that Juliette was secretly 
in love with Pierre Laurier. I never ventured to ask her, 
for fear lest her answer might be an affirmative one, for I 
could have given her no consolation. Alas ! and can 
there be anything more cruel for a mother than to see 
her child grieving and not be able to comfort her with a 
word of hope ? Still, it would be best to know, for there, 
perhaps, lies the wound that it is our duty to try to heal." 

It seemed to Jacques that a force which it was impos- 
sible to resist was impelling him to fathom this painful 
mystery. He shrank from everything that reminded him 
of his friend’s death, and yet he was urged onward by an 
invincible curiosity. He wished to know, and he trembled 
to learn. He would have chosen to be silent, and yet 
he could not restrain himself from saying : “ Suppose I 
speak to her ? She might make me the depositary of her 
secret." 

Ask her, then, very gently, and if she does not wish 
to say anything, do not urge her ; let her be silent if she 
chooses." 

‘‘You have no cause for fear." 

Juliette was returning toward the house. Mme. de 
Vignes made one last, mute appeal to her son’s tender 
compassion, and went in. 

The young girl raised her eyes and saw her brother 
standing before her, seemingly awaiting her. A tender 
look came to her eyes, and her cheeks flushed with pleas- 
ure. She was transformed, and for a few seconds she 


138 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

was again the Juliette of old, sound in health, cheerful, 
in ail the blooming beauty of her seventeen years ; but a 
cloud passed over her brow, her features sank, her mouth 
lost its smile and she was again the melancholy girl that 
they had been accustomed to behold for so long a time. 

She took her brother’s arm of her own volition and 
supported herself by it with frank delight. “ You are 
quite well, dear Jacques ?” she said. 

He nodded affirmatively, gently pressing Juliette’s hand. 

“ What pleasure it gives us no longer to see you ill and 
unhappy !” she continued. “ For you did not endure 
your illness with patience, and you are not much inclined 
toward resignation.” She gave a little shake of the head, 
as if to say : Women have more courage, they bear 

suffering with better grace.” They had reached the front 
of *the house, the very place where, beneath the veranda, 
Davidoff had told Jacques of Pierre Laurier’s death. 
The drawing-room window was still partially open behind 
its blinds, but Juliette was not there on the watch to learn 
her misfortune. She knew, now, all that she had to look 
forward to ; she was only awaiting the end of her suffer- 
ing, but there was no one on earth to whom she could 
look for this deliverance ; it must come from above. 
With a tranquil air of indifference, she seated herself on 
one of the wicker easy-chairs and looked out upon the 
sea. Jacques reflected : “ I must question her. What 
shall I say to her, and how shall I open the conversation ? 
This small intelligence is so clear-sighted ! She will 
weigh every one of my words and get at the meaning of 
my inquiries. A mistake would put her on her guard, 
and if she once distrusts me I shall be able to extract 
nothing from her ; she will be impenetrable.” 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 39 

“ Here we are at the middle of March,” he said with an 
absent air. “We shall soon have to be getting back to 
Paris. Will you not be sorry to leave this place, darling ?” 

“ It does not matter much to me where I am,” she 
said, without even starting, as if she had thought : “ I 
shall never be at rest until I am in the ground, in the deep 
silence and the tranquil slumber of eternity.” 

“ I should have thought that the idea of departure 
would be disagreeable to you, would even have caused 
you pain, and I was on the point of requesting our 
mother to prolong our stay for a few weeks.” 

She let her head decline upon her breast, and seemed 
to have made up her mind to confide no portion of her 
thoughts. Her brother watched her closely, trying to 
surprise some more violent palpitation of the poor, suf- 
fering heart. “ I myself,” he continued, “ should not 
have been sorry to remain here for a little longer time. 
I shall be sorry to leave this country, for I shall always 
feel attached to it, now, by a tie of sorrow.” His voice 
failed him. Every time that he had to speak of Laurier 
he trembled, as if he felt the remorse of a criminal com- 
plicity in his tragic end. “ It is here that I lost the friend 
whom I loved most dearly, and nothing will ever console 
me for his loss. I feel that in leaving this place I shall be 
going farther away from him. And still I know not where 
to go to weep for him, since the waves have never re- 
stored to us his form, since we have not had the supreme 
consolation of putting up a last prayer in his behalf. All 
this land where I beheld him moving, walking for the last 
time, detains me, as if there were a secret hope that I 
might see him appear again here some day.” 

Juliette started at these words and raised her eyes 


140 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

questioningly ; she made a gesture of delight that was in- 
stantly repressed. “ Do you think that it is possible that 
he is not dead ?” she asked. 

He replied in hollow tones: “ His body has never been 
found.” 

“Alas ! is he the first that the jealous sea has kept for 
its own ?” the girl exclaimed with a heart-rending accent. 
“ No ; we must not treasure up illusions and delude our- 
selves with dreams. He lost confidence in his future, he 
judged wrongly those who loved him, he despaired of 
life, — and the misfortune is certain, irreparable ! We 
shall never again look upon poor Pierre ! He has gone 
from us forever. Never again shall we hear the sound of 
his voice, his laugh . . . nor even his complainings. He has 
gone to that land from whence there is no return, and we 
may weep for him without fearing that our tears will be 
wasted !” 

She had become animated in speaking thus, and her 
grief, which she no longer attempted to restrain, over- 
flowed from her heart to her lips, like a torrent that is 
swollen by a sudden storm. Jacques, deeply shocked, 
looked at his sister, and in the bitter regret that she now 
confessed to, he looked for some trace of a reproach ad- 
dressed to himself. He asked himself : “ Has she any sus- 
picion of the frightful secret ? If she had to choose be- 
tween him and me, which one of us would be her choice? 
Would she sacrifice her brother or the object of her love ?” 

Drying the tears that were streaming down her face, 
she was silent for a moment, then went on : “ As a com- 
pensation, Heaven has delivered us from the fears that 
your health inspired in us. Enjoy your life, dear Jacques, 
and employ it in loving us.” 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. I4I 

She made a movement as if to go away, but he detained 
her and, looking her steadily in the face, said : This, 
then, is the secret of your despondency and your suffer- 
ing! You loved him?’' 



Without hesitation or embarrassment she replied: 
With all my soul. With you and my mother he was 
the only one that ever occupied my heart.” 

“ You are not twenty yet. At your age sorrow is not 
eternal. All the future is before you.” 


142 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


She hung her head sadly, then very gently said : “ Let 
us never speak of this again ; it would cause me useless 
pain. I am not of those who forget and suffer them- 
selves to be consoled. Deep in my heart there is a tem- 
ple erected to Pierre where I worship. He will be the 
constant object of my thoughts, but it is painful to me to 
hear his name uttered in my presence. I promise that 
I will be careful of myself and neglect nothing that will 
restore me to health ; I have no wish to distress you or 
cause you anxiety, but leave me the freedom of my 
grief.” 

She gave her brother a gentle smile and resumed her 
solitary walk along the terrace. He, much affected, en- 
tered the house and ascended to his mother’s room. 

Mme. de Vignes was anxiously awaiting him. “ Well ?” 
she said as soon as she saw him. 

“Well! I have talked with her as we agreed I should, 
and I found her, if not amenable to reason, at least very 
calm. Her affliction is deep and will not be consoled. 
I had thought that a prolongation of our stay here might 
be beneficial to her, but I was mistaken. I think that 
the best course would be to return to Paris and allow her 
to resume her old habits. Solitude will do her no good ; 
it gives her too much opportunity to concentrate her 
thoughts on one single subject. There she will see more 
of society, which will necessarily divert her thoughts 
from the gloomy channel that they now run in, and the 
condition of her spirits will respond, I hope . . .” 

“ Will it be best to commence the preparations for de- 
parture at once ?” 

“ No, that would be too sudden. We can leave here in 
two weeks.” 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


143 


“ But will not the change of climate be injurious to you, 
my dear child? We are only in March, and it is still cold 
in Paris.” 

“ What matters it ? I am in perfect health again, and 
it is of Juliette alone that we must think.” 

“ Well, I will follow your advice.” 

Jacques tenderly kissed his mother’s hands. The 
breakfast-bell rang and they proceeded to the dining- 
room, where Juliette soon joined them. Mother and son 
affected to converse upon indifferent topics. The meal 
was not protracted. A feeling of constraint weighed upon 
the family, and the different members were agreed in de- 
siring to be alone. Each of them arose immediately upon 
the conclusion of the dessert, the two women silently re- 
turning to their respective rooms and Jacques, smoking a 
cigar, going down to the shore. 

At that spot there was a little inlet, surrounded by red- 
dish rocks which were bathed by the murmuring waves. 
The verdure came down almost to the water’s edge and 
died away there, and upon the sand mosses of a grayish 
green, like lichens, grew luxuriantly. Jacques threw him- 
self down upon this natural carpet, and in the delicious 
warmth of the sun began to reflect. All was silent and 
deserted ; before him and above him was immensity. The 
sky seemed to lose itself in the sea ; the azure extended 
far as the eye could see. His gaze, fixed upon the distant 
horizon, became weary at last, dazzled by the limpid re- 
fulgence of the atmosphere, fascinated by the moving 
serenity of the waves. 

Little by little the sensation of reality was obliterated 
within him, and he seemed again to be in the Casino dur- 
ing the night of the veglione ; he seemed to hear the cries 


144 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


and laughter of the throng, the trampling of the dancers, 
the music of the orchestra. The picture of that night of 
carnival arose before him in its entirety, and among the 
different groups he beheld the white domino. She was 
smiling voluptuously beneath the lace fall of her mask, 
and through the apertures in the white satin her eyes 
shone forth like diamonds. He seemed to inhale the sub- 
tile and penetrating perfume that emanated from her 
lithe form, and so lively was his impression of the prox- 
imity of this alluring woman in that lonely spot that he 
involuntarily stretched out his arms toward her. At last 
he broke the spell of the mirage and found himself alone. 

A feeling of anger seized him at the thought that Cle- 
mence’s memory could haunt him thus persistently, that 
she could obtrude herself thus upon his life and that he 
could not be off his guard a moment without being at the 
mercy of the sorceress. She had said to him : “ Whether 
you will or no !” and it was in vain that he strove to exert 
his volition against her ; he felt that she was winding her 
toils about him, perfidious and triumphant, mistress of his 
thoughts, his senses, and tyrannical sovereign of his will. 
He reflected upon his sensations, and asked himself why 
he resisted them, what was the reason of the instinctive 
repugnance that he felt for her, or rather what was the rea- 
son of his fear. For this woman was dangerous, that he 
knew ; and she inspired him with terror. Every one that 
had been near and dear to her she had caused to suffer ; 
ruin, dishonor, death, those were her gifts to those whose 
love she had gained. And her hatred was even more to 
be dreaded than her love. And yet she was so beautiful, 
with her red lips, her eyes of velvety softness, and her di- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 45 

vine form! What had he to fear? Was he not her 
chosen lover ? 

Then Pierre came up before his memory. Had not 
he also, he, the famous artist, been loved by her ? And 
had she not quickly wearied of him ; had not her insatia- 
ble love of change, her shameless fickleness, that made the 
word fidelity sound hateful in her ears, impelled her to 
deceive him? Poor Laurier, how he had suffered ! Her 
almost royal luxury had been stained by his sweat, by his 
tears, by his blood ; thanks to her, he had allowed the 
delicate flower of his genius to wither away. Like a 
thorough-bred horse, harnessed to the heavy plough of 
labors that were repugnant to him, he had foundered in 
his attempt to gain the money that she scattered so lav- 
ishly along her way of life, and when his ability to work 
deserted him he had had recourse to the gambling-table, 
to obtain from chance that which his abused and wasted 
talent would no longer furnish to him. 

Jacques knew all the stages of this wretched portion of 
Laurier’s existence. He had seen the painter pass 
through them one by one, sinking each day a little lower 
into his moral degradation, knowing himself lost, undone, 
sobbing in his despair, uttering loud cries of blasphemy, 
and unable to refrain from going forward to his fall, to his 
destruction, when the woman whom he so loved and exe- 
crated made him a signal with her rosy finger, or let fall 
a word from her lips of flame. What was the spell, then, 
Satanic or divine, that this creature possessed, that she 
could thus bring desolation to the hearts of men and fill 
them with a raging storm of love that it was impossible 
to allay ? The only rival that could triumph over her was 
Death. Why had his friend in a manner bequeathed her 


146 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


to him ? Did he mean that he was to be his avenger ? 
And did he suppose that he was capable of subjugating 
the monster ? 

Laurier’s features rose before his eyes, such as he had 
beheld them for some time past in his troubled dreams. 
He was mortally sad, and his lips moved, and it seemed 
to Jacques that he murmured : ^‘Take care; I gave you 
life, but she will take it from you. Her appointed end 
on earth is the undoing of man. She it is who punishes 
baseness, selfishness, falsehood and infamy; whenever 
man commits a crime, she it is who is charged with the 
duty of avenging it. She is the force of destiny ; im- 
pelled by fatality, she smites indiscriminately him who is 
guilty and him who is only weak. Consider what she 
did with me. She lied when she told you that it was my 
desire that you should love her. No ; I fled from her, 
even to the grave, and she inspires me with horror. Be- 
lieve her not, nor listen to her, nor even look at her. Her 
looks degrade, her words corrupt, her embraces kill. Fly 
from her ; if she approaches you, if she seeks you, if she 
calls you, put distance between you and her. It lies in 
your hands now to decide whether you will live or die.” 

Laurier’s sad face disappeared, and Jacques was again 
alone, in front of him the rolling sea, and about him on 
every side the enchanted desert, where all nature lay ra- 
diantly basking in the clear sunlight. He said to himself : 

I am becoming visionary. What is the meaning of the 
fears and scruples by which I am besieged ? Can it be 
that this woman holds any power over my existence ; and 
if I love her, even though* it be only for a day or for an 
hour, shall I therefor be lost ? Mere puerilities of a mind 
that has not yet recovered all its strength ; I am not as 


1 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1^7 

entirely cured of my illness as I had thought. But what 
is it that causes in me this feeling of uneasiness? What 
is the nature of the moral crisis that I am experiencing ? 
Is it criminal for me to love the woman that Pierre loved ? 
For it is from that that spring the reproaches of my con- 
science. Am I doing wrong? And then is there not a 
large element of individual fancy and social convention in 
what people have agreed to designate as right and wrong ?” 


His selfish nature answered him : There is that which 
pleases, that which you desire, and that is all.” And the 
woman who had disturbed his peace of mind, whom his 
conscience told him was forbidden fruit to him, pleased 
him ; he desired her. His heart was deaf to every argu- 
ment that his reason suggested to him against the passion 


148 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

that was hurrying him away. At that very moment, as 
he sat thereupon the warm rocks in the enjoyment of a de- 
licious tranquillity, his feet at the brink of the waves that 
were rolling in fringed with foam, his excited senses were 
attracting him toward the fair magician, and he was trem- 
bling with impatience. He knew that at Nice, only half 
an hour away, the fete was going on, and that “the battle 
of flowers ” would draw to the Promenade des Anglais the 
entire colony of elegant men and women of fashion. 
Clemence would be there, and she was waiting and watch- 
ing for him, she was calling to him. He had but a step to 
take to be with her. 

His heart beat fiercely, as though it would suffocate 
him, and all his being went out toward her. His weaken- 
ing reason told him : “ But she braved you ; she said to 
you, ‘ Whether you will or no.’ Are you going to obey 
her, then, as if you were her slave? You have very little 
pride and courage. Do not go ; stay where you are. 
Take care !” 

He was already upon his feet. The magnetic force 
that had always brought Laurier to submission after so 
many oaths that he would not yield was now acting upon 
Jacques. The attraction of this girl, ghoul that she was, 
annihilated the will of those whom she desired to entice 
and was stronger than reason or than distance. . However 
the young man might argue the case Avith himself, his 
passion was finally victorious ; he went to the house, took 
his hat and cloak, and left without bidding his sister 
good-by. 


V. 



The passion that Clemence inspired in Jacques was the 
stronger that it had been resisted. A caprice had thrown 
the young woman and the handsome young man together, 
and they loved each other with an exclusiveness that placed 


an insurmountable barrier between them and the rest of 
the world. For two weeks they lived only for each other 
in the pretty villa on the Mentone road, either under the 

149 



150 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

flowering orange trees of the garden, or among the low 
luxurious divans of the Moorish drawing-room. 

At evening, not without great difficulty, Jacques would 
tear himself from the beguilements of his charmer and re- 
turn to Beaulieu. His mother and sister only saw him for 
a moment, before his departure in the morning, and it 


caused Mme. de Vignes a feeling of deep sadness to see 
that the unhoped-for restoration of her son’s health had 
been to him only a signal for resuming his former dissi- 
pated way of living, that consuming life that had brought 
him so near his end. She had ventured upon a remon- 
strance, which had been answered with a smile. Jacques, 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. I51 

in a hurry to be off, had kissed his mother, assured her 
that he had never felt stronger, which was the truth, and 
that there was no cause for uneasiness, and then, unwilling 
to listen further to advice or entreaties, he had made his 
way to the station and taken the Monte Carlo train. So 
the two women remained alone, and their days were 
passed in silence and in gloom, while at the villa Jacques 
was enjoying the wasting pleasures that had destroyed 
Pierre Laurier’s talent, debased his character, ruined his 
courage and transformed the famous artist into a wreck 
who had sought forgetfulness of his brilliant past in 
death. 

Cl^mence, all the more dangerous because she was now 
sincere, loved as she believed that she had never loved 
before. In this handsome, blond, rather effeminate 
young man she found the charming and delicate lover 
who, besides, served so well as a foil to her dark beauty. 
Her power over him was complete, arid she influenced his 
life to such a degree that he had not a thought that was 
not hers, not a wish that was not inspired by her. It was 
as if she had had a philtre by which she could impregnate 
with love the very marrow in his bones, the fibres of his 
being, every nerve and every particle of flesh. She was 
the devilish succubus of this man, who was happy in his 
misfortune, who thought himself at the very pinnacle of 
felicity and never stopped to measure how deep must be 
his fall. 

While revelling in these delightful emotions the time 
drew near that had been fixed for Jacques’ departure, 
and Cl^mence, unable to endure the idea of parting from 
him, made ready to return to Paris. It was not without 
many and deep regrets that they left that delicious region. 


152 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


that seemed to have been made expressly for the abode 
of love ; but they consoled themselves by the thought 
that in the city opportunities of seeing each other would 
be much more frequent, and if they desired they could 
be together almost all the time. 

The effect that the return to Paris produced upon them 
was, in her case and in his, quite different. Jacques 
experienced a profound feeling of delight upon again 
beholding the city which, in the days when he was so ill, 
he had thought he should never look upon more. The 
bustle of the streets, the stir and noise of the crowds, 
raised his spirits and had an intoxicating effect upon him; 
the charm *of Paris made itself felt. He had left the 
most delicious climate, and now his eyes feasted upon a 
wondrous scene. The cloudy sky, the wide avenues lined 
with mansions of stone, seemed to him admirable, and he 
said to himself that there was nothing more beautiful in 
all the world. He joyously returned to his bachelor 
apartment and shut himself up there with delight. 

Clemence, on the other hand, again domiciled in her 
great hotel in the Avenue Hoche, together with the 
luxuriousness of her existence was obliged to resume its 
cares. Down there at Monte Carlo she could live like a 
little bourgeoise, while at Paris she again became the famed 
inhabitant of the demi-monde whose household expenses 
cost her no less than three hundred thousand francs year 
by year. A sudden transformation had taken place in 
her: Jacques could not believe that she was the same 
woman ; her tone and manner and way of life were com- 
pletely changed. In her presence one felt that he was 
with a woman who had armed herself for the battle of 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 53 

life and was always on her guard not to be surprised and 
overcome. 

She evinced a deep tenderness for Jacques; she told 
him that he was her master and that she was entirely 
subject to his will ; but the very fact of her telling him 
this so clearly showed his waning influence that it made 
the young man reflective. Cl^mence was aware of 
the impression she had produced and did her best to 
remove it. She became gentle and caressing, and for a 
while was. again the simple and charming lover of old 
days. 

The security of Jacques’ faith in her, however, had 
received a fatal shock. In the little villa at Monte Carlo 
he might be able to flatter himself with the illusion that 
she had never loved any one as she loved him, but in the 
sumptuous hotel at Paris everything told the tale of Clem- 
ence’s past life, everything served to bring to mind her 
lovers, from Selim Nuno, who had bought the mansion and 
given it to her, down to Pierre Laurier, who had painted 
the superb portrait of her that hung in the great drawing- 
room. Disturbing thoughts began to occupy the young 
man’s mind ; he was sombre, uneasy, irritable. He was 
no longer sure of her whom he adored, and this increased 
his love. 

They saw less of each other than before, although they 
had promised themselves that they would never part. 
This was not owing to any determination on Clemence’s 
part, but because the conditions of existence were no 
longer the same and the demands on her time necessitated 
by her style of living were inimical to her love. Jacques 
gradually accustomed himself to confine his visits to 
stated hours, his passion worked more by rule. This was 


154 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

very unfortunate for him ; had he remained at Monte 
Carlo he doubtless would have soon reached the point of 
weariness of her, but the obstacles that he encountered 
at Paris inflamed instead of discouraged him. 

Cl^mence, with that keen observation that characterizes 
every woman, and particularly those who make their 
living from masculine vanity and stupidity, at once com- 
prehended his state of mind. She had known for ever so 
long that in men a feeling of security quickly begets 
indifference, and that the sharpest spur with which to 
urge a halting lover is uncertainty. Seeing Jacques 
occupying the anxious seat and upon the point of becom- 
ing jealous, she took a spiteful pleasure in keeping him 
in suspense, in allowing him to fear and hope. She thus 
inflamed his passion to the highest pitch of intensity. 
She beheld his sufferings with a refinement of delight, 
knowing that she had it in her power to make atonement 
for his anxiety by pleasures which would seem to him 
proportionally more keen. 

Jacques had but little to say when not with Clemence, 
and his mother was greatly distressed by his lifeless, 
brooding manner. He would spend hours and hours 
lying upomthe divan of his smoking-room, his eyes fixed 
upon the ceiling, inhaling the smoke from opium cigar- 
ettes that clouded his brain, never moving, never speak- 
ing, as if he were lost in a dream of hashisch. His health 
continued good ; still, there was a pallor on his cheek that 
had taken the place of the bright, fresh color that he had 
brought back with him from the south. He was losing 
flesh, but his nerves sustained him wonderfully, and he 
would sit up all night with extraordinary zest, as if the 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 55 

silence and inertness of the day had served to lay up a 
store of strength for his amusements. 

Every day he would visit his club about five o’clock, 
and generally again at midnight. He gambled a good 
deal, and at the beginning with wonderful luck. He 



would think nothing of winning five hundred louis before 
dinner, and this money, that goes so easily, he would let 
slip through his fingers with the most superb indifference. 
He afforded himself the pleasure of gratifying C16mence’s 
luxurious tastes. A secret jealousy was tormenting him. 


156 IVIIAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

and he wished his mastership in the woman’s house to be 
uncontested. He did not, however, acquire any ad- 
ditional rights there by this course, and three months 
after his return from Nice he was supporting the woman 
who had the reputation of being the most expensive in 
all Paris. He had not been satisfied with loading her 
with princely gifts, such as make the fortune of the jewel- 
lers and which he brought and laid in his mistress’ lap as 
at Monte Carlo he had offered her a bouquet of roses and 
violets ; he wanted to play the role of Jupiter to this 
Danae af the Avenue Hoche, and from that day his life 
became to him an infernal one. 

The stiff game of ^carte that they had been used to play 
no longer sufficed to supply his wants, and baccarat opened 
a wider field for him. Gambling, which had at first been 
only a distraction for him and then an expedient for 
money-making, now became a passion. He was fond of 
it, not only for the pecuniary resources that it afforded, 
but also for the emotions that it inspired in him. He 
would deal with a magnificent impassibility that cloaked 
consuming sensations, he would make bets of a hundred 
thousand francs without a tremor in his voice, without 
moving a muscle of his face ; but he would be boiling in- 
ternally, and the quivering of his nerves was the more in- 
tense the more carefully it was concealed. When, after 
two hours of alternating gains and losses, fortune came 
and settled at his side of the table, his mind, exalted by 
the fierce desire of triumph, would relax into a delicious 
state of beatitude. There was an instant of intoxication 
that had not its equal, during which he was utterly ob- 
livious of everything that was not connected with the 
game. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 57 

Cl^mence had early ascertained that she no longer oc- 
cupied Jacques’ affections exclusively, but she did not 
exhibit any jealousy toward the successful rival to which 
she was indebted for the means of gratifying her expen- 
sive tastes. Moreover, her feelings were undergoing a 
perceptible modification, one which was liable to happen 
in her case. Her social instincts had resumed their power, 
and the pretty whim of pleasure that had taken posses- 
sion of her in the solitude of the south had not been able 
to make a stand before the distractions of Paris. She 
had fallen in with her female friends and renewed her re- 
lations with them, and caught in the whirling wheels of 
the daily recurring round of amusement, she found less 
time to devote to affairs of love. 

And then, besides, as long as he had stood her off with 
his rough impenetrability Jacques had inspired her with 
passion, but when he gave way to her every fancy and, 
worst mistake of all, supported her as any common mil- 
lionaire might have done, she was at the point of weary- 
ing of him. As soon as he ceased to be forbidden fruit he 
ceased to be appetizing. In that respect the actress was 
not more perverse than the ordinary run of women. The 
entire responsibility of whatever might happen was made 
to depend on Jacques. He had modified, of his own mo- 
tion, the conditions of his intimacy with Clemence ; he 
had disregarded the fundamental axiom of the philosophy 
of gallantry: ‘^A woman’s love is in direct ratio to the 
sacrifices that she imposes upon herself.” No longer hold- 
ing her by one end of the chain of her caprice, he might 
look to be deceived by her at any time ; in CHmence’s 
case the interval between the cessation of her affec- 
tion and her treachery was fiil. but it was not to be ex- 


158 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

pected that she would restore Jacques to liberty because 
she no longer loved him. It was not in her nature to be 
thus generous, and in all Paris there was no woman who 
could so implacably torture the man whom she had ceased 
to love. She had kept Laurier dangling after her more than 
a year after she had ceased to entertain any fondness for 
him, and it was during this infernal period that the artist, 
in his torment and degradation, had dreamed of making 
his escape from this life that Clemence had made a hell 
to him. 

Jacques saw nothing of all this as yet. The beautiful 
woman was past-master in the art of deceiving men ; she 
continued to charm him with the same pretty smile, the 
same honeyed words, the same languorous caresses. Al- 
ready his pleasure was not unadulterated, and so skilful was 
the imposition that his delight seemed none the less to him. 

He now visited his mother only at long intervals ; it was 
too gloomy there, so he stayed away. His sister day by 
day hung her head, paler and more feeble, although the 
symptoms of the disease that was slowly sapping her life 
could not be definitely diagnosed. By a strong effort of 
her will, however, in order to mislead Mme. de Vignes, 
she succeeded in maintaining an appearance of cheerful- 
ness, but the mother was not deceived by her daughter’s 
acting, and the two women, assuming such serenity of 
countenance as they might in order mutually to deceive 
each other, continued to drag on their lives in their secret 
grief. 

The doctors in consultation had decided that the dis- 
ease was anaemia. They could not see that any organ 
was affected, either heart or lungs, but it was evident to 
them that there was a slow, gradual wasting going on. It 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 59 

seemed as if Jacques had abstracted from his sister all her 
store of strength and given her in exchange all his debil- 
ity. It was a source of great astonishment to the prac- 
titioners who had attended the brother the year before to 


see him leading his stormy life, while Juliette, who only 
last spring was radiant with health, was now bent and 
sickly. And Jacques, whom these two women had sur- 
rounded with so many attentions and such loving kind- 
ness, wearied by the complainings of his mother and chilled 


l6o WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

by the mournful smile of his sister, was now avoiding 
them with heartless selfishness and enjoying to the full 
the life that had been restored to him. 

June had come, and it had been Cl^mence’s desire to 
go to Deauville, as she was accustomed to do at this sea- 
son. For several years Selim Nufio had placed his splen- 
did villa there at the disposal of the actress. Jacques, 
who was already beginning to look with displeasure upon 
the frequent visits that the old financier paid to the 
young woman, showed a disposition to resist when she 
spoke to him of her plans. Going to the sea-shore, that 
was good, and choosing Deauville was all right, but why 
accept Selim Nufio’s hospitality? Cl^mence answered the 
question in an off-hand manner: “ For ten years now, my 
dear, Selim has been a good friend to me. I have owed 
a great deal to him in the past, and I would not like to 
say that I shall never owe him anything in the future.” 

“That is not very probable, as long as I am here.” 

“So much the better, then. But you may not be here. 
Men are changeable. To-day you love me, to-morrow 
you may forget me. Those upon whom we can reckon 
under any and all circumstances are scarce; it is better to 
keep on the fight side of them. And then come, Jacques, 
now really you can’t be jealous of that poor old man ? 
He is a father to me. And you know very well that you 
have nothing to fear from any one !” 

She tried to overcome his resistance by soft words, but 
the young man’s opposition was firm and based upon con- 
siderations that were already of ancient date. He listened, 
shaking his head with a manner that evinced very little 
conviction. 

“ I do not wish,” he said, “ to go and inhabit M. Nufio’s 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. l6l 

villa, for although he is not living there, we shall none the 
less be under his roof. What would people say of me in 
such a case? It would be such an easy matter to hire 
another villa and be under obligations to no one. If you 
are willing to do that, we can again lead the sweet life that 
we led at Monte Carlo ; we shall have a delightful retreat 
upon the sea-shore all to ourselves and there will be noth- 
ing to prevent your giving me all your society. Here 
your occupations and your friendships are my constant 
rivals, and you are almost completely sundered from me, 
while down there there will be no one to interfere with us 
and I shall have you all to myself.” 

He spoke with feeling, and Cl^mence listened attentively 
to his words. His voice, that had once sounded so sweetly 
in her ears, now seemed to her common and indifferent, 
and his hands, which enclasped her own, no longer burned 
her flesh. He appeared to her in the light of a good-look- 
ing, blond young fellow, very exacting toward her and of 
whom she was beginning to weary. To his urgent im- 
portunities she answered with a smile which Jacques re- 
garded as an omen of victory ; he went to the young 
woman and took her in his arms. She made no resistance ; 
she was carefully analyzing her own sensations. His em- 
brace left her cold and unmoved ; none of the transports 
that she had once felt now arose to warm her heart, and 
she felt that there were only lifeless ashes on the hearth, 
that the fire could never be relighted. Barely four months 
of love and all was over ! 

Her thoughts turned to the evening of the veglio^iCy 
when in their box they had exchanged their first words of 
tenderness. How earnest had been her feeling then, how 
her heart had throbbed : and now how indifferent she felt. 


1 62 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

how weary of it all ! He continued to be dominated by 
his passion, but there was no mistaking it, she had worn 
out her caprice. At that very moment Jacques’ sentence 
was pronounced. While he was holding Cl^mence in his 
embrace, she was saying to herself : N . . . o, no, it is all 
over, with him, just as with all the rest of them. He 
worships me and I am tired of him. Shall I never meet 
with a man who will not love me and to whom I can give 
my affection for all time?” She rose from the sofa where 
she was sitting beside Jacques and went and stationed 
herself against the marble chimney-piece with a thought- 
ful air. So you insist on having your own way? Very 
well .... I yield. Hire any house that pleases you, pro- 
vided only that it is roomy, well situated, and has suffi- 
cient stabling for the horses, for I shall take my whole 
establishment down with me. But Nufto is to have the 
same liberty of coming to see me that he would have any- 
where else, you understand, for I do not mean to break 
with my old friends, nor to allow myself to be shut up in 
a dungeon.” 

‘‘Did I ever think of such a thing?” Jacques protested. 
“ Have I not always shown confidence in you ?” 

Clemence looked at him and thought that he was de- 
cidedly silly. A faint smile played upon her lips, and for 
a moment she was silent ; then she slowly said : “You are 
quite right to have confidence in me ; if you were dis- 
trustful it would not make a bit of difference !” 

It was a beautiful warm evening ; they went out and 
had dinner at the Restaurant des Ambassadeurs. At 
eleven o’clock Clemence, who was in a pretty bad humor 
and said she was not feeling well, dismissed Jacques, who 
carried his irritation to the club, where, as they were just 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 63 

Starting a game of baccarat, he took the bank and dealt. 
It was a singular fact that, fortunate at cards as long as he 
had been loved, the very moment that his mistress had 
shown that he had become indifferent to her seemed to 
be the signal for ending his good fortune. Luck turned 
sharply against him, only returning to make him a few 
brief visits, and at daybreak he went home, a loser to the 
extent of three thousand louis. 

He had won so heavily during the last few months that 
he attached no importance to this freak of fortune, which 
he looked upon as purely accidental. It only made him 
more ardent in seeking his revenge, but he encountered 
only loss after loss. In his surprise he only grew more 
obstinate, and in the course of a few days he was obliged 
to carry very large sums of money to the club to pay his 
debts. He had hired a house at Trouville and wanted to 
break up this terrible run of adverse luck ; so, as Cl^mence 
was ready to go, they started for the coast of Normandy. 

Life there went on with them much the same as at 
Paris, only with greater intimacy, which increased the 
young woman’s coolness toward her lover, obliged as she 
was to assume an appearance of affection which she no 
longer felt toward a man who was as tiresome to her as 
any of his predecessors had been. She revenged herself 
by devising means to make him squander his money. It 
was the very moment when Jacques, seeing his ready 
means suddenly exhausted, had been compelled to have 
recourse to his reserves. A spirit of opposition seemed to 
be aroused in him by the difficulty of the situation, and 
he had never clung so closely to Cl^mence as now when 
she was drifting away from him. Perhaps this strange 
girl possessed the dangerous faculty of blinding the judg- 


164 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 

ment of her lovers, for, with the exception of Nuno, who 
had been her first protector and had never taken umbrage 
at her caprices, none of those whom she had loved and 
left had ever consoled themselves for her loss. 

Cl^mence cut quite a dash at Monte Carlo, and the 
amusements that she organized were the talk of the entire 
beach. There were horseback parties every day, taking all 
the young folks of Trouville out ori the Honfleur or Villers 
roads. The livery-stables were turned inside out in those 



/ 


days, and a decent horse could not have been obtained 
in all the country for love or money. The ladies en- 
trusted themselves to four-in-hand breaks, and at break- 
fast-time the whole party would draw up in front of one of 
the excellent inns that line the coast, and then the cavaliers 
would dismount and amid the dust and the bright sun- 
light and with a great din of merry cries and laughter, 
would help the pretty girls down from their lofty perches 
on the mail-phaetons. Then came the fluttering of white 
skirts and fleeting glimpses of little feet and well-turned 
ankles that made the rustics stare with amazement as 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 65 

they stood with gaping mouths in the doors of their 
dwellings. 

At other times they would all go on board Baron Tr^- 
sorier’s steam-yacht and over a sea that was as smooth 
as oil, would sail away to Fecamp or toward Cherbourg. 
At evening all the merry crew would meet again in the 
Casino at Trouville and dance until midnight to the music 
of the orchestra, then home and to bed, tired out with 
the day’s pleasures ; all excepting the gamblers, who 
would assemble at the club, where a game would be 
started that ended only with the break of day. Jacques 
would deal with a hard but impenetrable expression of 
face, with a luck that still continued to run strongly 
against him, and he beheld the last remnant of his little 
fortune rapidly disappearing in the wreck. He did not 
allow himself to be discouraged, and with inconceivable 
confidence waited for a change in his fortune. He 
argued that it could not always remain faithless to him, 
and that he would repair his losses in the course of a few 
evenings, — a reasoning that is common to all gamblers, a 
hope that is shared by all who see themselves ruined, but 
neither hope nor reasoning are often ratified by destiny. 

One evening when he had been playing with his usual 
bad luck, the bank being put up at auction, he heard a 
voice that was familiar to him utter the often-repeated 
words, “ Bank open.” He raised his eyes and, separated 
from him only by the breadth of the table, beheld Patrizzi. 
His look met that of the Prince, who saluted him with a 
friendly smile. At the same instant a person who was 
standing behind the Neapolitan came forward from the 
ring of lookers-on, and with a horrible contraction of the 
heart Jacques recognized in him Doctor Davidoff. 


1 66 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

The young man could not move a step ; he stood there 
as if nailed to his place. The cold perspiration stood in 
drops upon his forehead, there was a ringing in his ears. 
It was as if the fleshless image of Death had come and 
planted itself in front of him. He was still standing there 
motionless, powerless to advance or to retire, fascinated 
by the keen glance of the Russian, when Patrizzi’s hand 
fell upon his shoulder. Jacques turned with an effort, 
and listened with a dazed expression to what the Prince 
was saying to him. He could hardly hear his words, but 
the thought that people were observing him and that his 
manner must seem strange to them restored him some- 
what to himself ; he passed his hand across his forehead 
and succeeded in saying to Patrizzi : “ Have you been 

here long ?” 

“ A quarter of an hour or so. Davidoff and I came in 
together just at the moment when your bank was most 
hard pushed. Those Englishmen inflicted pretty heavy 
punishment on you, my dear friend.” 

“ I am not in very good luck just now,” Jacques stam- 
mered. 

‘‘That is what those gentlemen were just telling me. 
But, excuse me, they are waiting for me to deal ; I will 
see if I can’t get back what they won from you. Ah ! 
here is Davidoff coming to speak to you.” He took his 
seat, upon the high chair, shuffled the cards, handed them 
to his neighbor to cut, and opened the game. Davidoff 
had left the group where he had been standing, and was 
leisurely advancing toward Jacques, examining him closely 
meanwhile. When he reached him he took his hand, 
rather as a physician would do than as a friend, and felt 
it to ascertain its suppleness, its warmth and nervous con- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 6 / 

dition, then releasing it with a shake of the head : “ You 
are feverish, Jacques,” he said, “ and the life that you 
are leading is very bad for you.” 

The doctor’s words of wisdom broke the spell under 
which the young man was lying. Davidoff was no longer 
in his eyes the mysterious person, custodian of the secret 
of the means by which new life had been infused into his 
exhausted frame, but a simple, kind-hearted man, differing 
in no respect from other men. He recovered his equa- 
nimity and gayly said : “ It would be a bad life for any 
one ; still, as you may see, I am not much the worse for 
it. But it is terribly warm in here ; let us go where we 
can get a breath of fresh air — shall we ?” 

He put on his overcoat and went out upon the terrace, 
leaning on Davidoff’s arm. The weather was delightful ; 
the night was soft and balmy and the heavens were bright 
with stars. The waves died away upon the sand of the 
beach with a gentle murmur. Away to the north the 
Havre lights were shining through the darkness. Pro- 
found tranquillity reigned over all. The two men walked 
up and down for some moments without speaking, recall- 
ing to memory the occurrences in which they had been 
associated and which united them by such powerful ties. 
They had a thousand questions to ask each other, but the 
fear that they might say too much held their curiosity in 
suspense. Jacques was the first to speak. “You have 
not been long at Trouville ?” he asked the doctor with 
assumed indifference. 

“ Count Woreseff’s yacht, on which I am a guest, 
brought us in at five o’clock this afternoon. We dined at 
the Roches-Noires, and as the owner was tired, he re- 


1 68 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

mained on board. Patrizzi and I foujid our way to the 
Casino, where I knew that I should meet you.’’ 

“ Ah ! somebody told you ...” 

“ That you have been staying here with Clemence 
Villa for three weeks past, that you have been playing a 
great deal, but with horrible luck, and that you were in 
good health. That is the extent of my information.” 

Jacques frowned. “They told you the truth,” he 
coldly replied. 

“ And is this the use that you ought to put your newly 
recovered health to ?” the physician gently asked. “ Oh, 
I don’t mean to pose as a moralist or read you a sermon. 
You know that I have a friendly feeling for you, and that 
is why I speak to you as I do. Clemence Villa ! So 
that is the kind of woman that I find you with ! And it 
is for her sake that you are gambling with this insensate 
fury. Come, my dear friend, are you quite sure that you 
are in your right mind ?” 

“ I am quite sure that I am madly infatuated with her,” 
Jacques answered in husky tones, “but I am not sure 
that it lies with me to have it otherwise. The love that 
she has inspired me with bears such a close relation to my 
recovery that it seems to me to be the very principle that 
effected it. And then what would become of me if I 
should cease to devote myself to this passion, which an- 
nihilates thought and absorbs every fibre of my being ? 
I am afraid to ask myself the question, and I do not care 
to know the answer.” He bent his anxious gaze intently 
upon the doctor. “ I must not think, don’t you see? for 
if I did, I could come to no other conclusion than that 
my life is an anomaly, full of danger to others and to my- 
self. No! no! I must not think! And the life that I 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 69 

am leading, and that you reproach me with, is the only 
one that can help me.” 

“ But your strength will not hold out,” said Davidoff ; 
“ you will kill yourself.” 

“ Do you think that there is any chance of it ?” replied 
Jacques with a nervous laugh. “ Is my fate in my own 
hands ? Am I not impelled by a sort of fatality ?” 

“ Be careful. This way of looking at the matter, tend- 
ing as it does to shift the responsibility of your acts 
from your own shoulders, is too easy a manner of excus- 
ing many faults,” the doctor severely said. “You were 
afraid to die, and you are alive : there is an incontestable 
fact. Do not ascribe it to supernatural causes. You are 
cured of the complaint from which you were suffering ; is 
yours the first case of that kind ? It was I who attended 
you ; give me the credit of your recovery, and do not be- 
lieve in Pythagorean fancies that a child would laugh at !” 

“ Were you laughing that evening when you told us 
those stories at Monte Carlo ?” 

“ Did I tell you that I believed everything that I told 
you ? We had had a good dinner ^tnd our friends had 
brought up the subject of spiritualism, and the conversa- 
tion turned, somewhat incoherently, upon the transmis- 
sion of souls. I took my part in the general concert, but 
if you care to know what my opinion really is, I will tell 
you that I am a materialist, and consequently I cannot 
admit that our bodies are animate'd by a principle of 
which I deny the existence.” 

“To what, then, is my recovery to be attributed?” 
Jacques inquired in a trembling voice. 

“ You recovered because the perforation of your lung, 
due to consumption, fortunately healed, thanks to the 


I/O 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 



treatment that you were subjected to, assisted by the 
favoring influence of the climate. ... How can you see 
any miracle in that? Not a year goes by without bring- 
ing with it similar phenomena, so satisfactory to those 
who are interested, and they never cause this mysterious 
disturbance in the minds of those who profit by them.” 

They had come to a halt at the margin of the sea, the 
surface of which, lying before them bathed in the bright 


moonlight, glittered' like molten silver. Jacques stood 
there for a moment, silent, then suddenly ejaculated, as if 
he were relieving himself of a burthen that was crushing 
him : “ And Pierre Laurier?” 

“ Pierre Laurier had lost his senses,” the doctor gravely 
replied, “ and you know very well who it was that robbed 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. I /I 

him of them. Jacques, I would like to see you yourself 
again ; I would like to display to you the life that you 
are leading in all its horrors, to make plain to you the 
utter infamy of her to whom you are sacrificing every- 
thing.” 

“Silence!” Jacques violently exclaimed. “I will not 
permit you to speak of her in such terms in my presence.” 

“ The evening when Laurier disappeared,” continued 
the Russian, “ it was not I who indulged in those fearful 
invectives against Clemence ; it was he. He cursed her 
bitterly, and yet at the same time an unconquerable force 
was drawing him toward her, and a hundred times before 
he had heaped the same injuries upon her, only to end 
in the same abject submission. He knew it ; he used to 
grind his teeth and pray that Heaven might give him 
courage to s£rangle the monster and then end his own 
life. Once again the monster was victorious over him 
who wished to render her harmless, and now it is you 
who are her victim, and after you there will be others. 
And if it were you alone that had to suffer!” 

“ Davidoff !” 

The Russian seized Jacques’ arm in a firm grasp. 
“ You have illusions upon the fair one’s fidelity ?” he said. 
“ Laurier had none, and yet he returned to her all the 
same. He loved her more passionately than you, for you 
have never experienced the trial of her faithlessness, and 
therefore you cannot know to what depths of infamy 
Clemence will make you stoop. Have you ever surprised 
her in company with another lover? Not yet, you say ? 
Very well, it cannot fail to happen some time or other, 
and then, when you have roared with rage and pain and 
threatened to kill everybody, you will come crawling like 


72 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


a whipped child to the feet of the guilty woman and sue 
for pardon ! Yes, that is what you will do. All have 
played that abject comedy before her, it will be played 
many a time again. That is why she despises men, takes 
them up according to her whim of the moment and 
casts them away when they have ceased to please. Try 
to soften her, and you will see with what cold cruelty she 
will gloat upon your tears, your lamentations. She will 
insult you, she will laugh in your face, will give you the 
history of her new loves, name to you the happy master 
of her heart. And you will wish to murder her, as Lau- 

rier did, and you will pray for death Come, Jacques, 

be sensible for a moment ; have your wits about you. 
What I said to Pierre upon that fatal night I am saying 
now to you, standing here upon the shore as we stood 
then, beneath the starry sky on a night that was twin to 
this. His answer to me was that it was all of no avail, 
that he had not the strength to follow my advice ; he left 
us and we have never seen him more. He was alone in the 
world, hut you have a mother, a sister. Think of them. 
Do you wish that they should have to grieve for you ?” 

“They are grieving now,” Jacques mournfully said. 
“ I am the subject of great anxiety and sorrow to them. 
They are very unhappy, poor innocent creatures, and all 
for my sake. Oh ! I know how guilty I am, and all the 
more so that they are so gentle and resigned. You have 
not seen my sister since you left here ; it would alarm 
you to behold her weak and melancholy condition. The 
doctors have all sought in vain to discover the cause of 
her illness, but my mother and I know what it is, and you, 
too, must have divined it. The wound from which she 
is suffering and from which it is fated that she shall die 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 73 

is at the heart ; she loved Pierre Laurier, and nothing can 
comfort her for his loss. She told me so down there, be- 
fore we came away, and I, wretch that I am, received her 
despairing confession with a feeling of coldness, almost of 
hatred. It seemed to me that ‘she was reproaching me 
with the death of him whom she had lost, and I was irri- 
tated and turned away from the poor child instead of 
comforting her and mingling my tears with hers. I felt 
Laurier’s life and strength beating within me ; he had 
given them, they were mine. The sufferings that I had 
endured and the dread prospect of approaching death 
were so fresh in my memqry that I believe I would have 
been capable of murder in defence of the life that had 
been so miraculously restored to me. For these reasons 
I abandoned myself madly, senselessly, to pleasure, in 
order to stifle my better reason and force my conscience 
to be silent. But I am a coward, a low, abject coward ! 
and the life that I am leading is the proof of it. Davidoff, 
why have I not the power of recalling Pierre to life ? It 
would be poor Juliette’s salvation, and, who can tell? 
perhaps mine as well. Yes, could I but again behold 
Laurier alive, I should regain confidence in my own 
strength, and I should cease to believe in that supernatu- 
ral aid which, whatever you may think of it, has been my 
sole stay and support hitherto. I should have the proof 
that I hold my life on the same tenure as other men ; or 
else the feeble flame within me would be extinguished, 

and then would come peace, repose, oblivion Oh, 

delightful! For, do you see, I am weary, oh ! I am so 
weary 1” 

Jacques allowed a deep sigh to escape him, and bowed 
his head dejectedly upon his breast ; his torturing emo- 


174 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


tion sent painful tremblings through his frame, and the 
cold sweat stood in big drops on his forehead. The Rus- 
sian watched him with sympathizing attention. “ You 



are not well, Jacques,” he said. “ There is a chill in the 
sea-breeze ; you must not remain here.” 

“ What difference does it make?” the young man defi- 
antly said. “ Heat and cold are nothing to me. It has 
done me good to tell you what you have just heard. I 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 75 

am a poor fool, and for a long time I have been subjected 
to evil influences against which I am powerless.” 

“ Very well; if you are conscious of your fault, why do 
you persist in it ? You told me just now that your mo- 
ther is sorrowing and your sister is ill. Let us go and see 
them ; let us start for Paris to-morrow morning. Let it 
be your duty to comfort the mother, and mine to heal the 
sister. Your presence will do good to both of them, to 
say nothing of the benefit that you will receive in your 
own person. Come, after the frank confession that you 
have made, show a little resolution ! Are you not a man 
and can you not act like a man ?” 

The directness of this proposal seemed to embarrass 
Jacques ; a shadow passed over his face. He was trou- 
bled at the thought of leaving Cl^mence, and doubtful 
as to what she would do in his absence. He stammeringly 
said : “ Is it necessary that we should start to-morrow ? 
Can’t we put off the journey for a few days? It would 
give me more time to get ready.” 

“ No !” Davidoff roughly answered. “ If you put it off, 
you will not go at all. Start to-morrow or I will never 
speak to you again as long as I live ; I will cease -to num- 
ber you among my acquaintance.” Seeing the young 
man hesitate, he continued : “ What keeps you ? Are 
you a free man? Or have you to ask some one’s permis- 
sion before you can go away ? Are things so bad as that ? 
You are in a worse state than I had supposed.” 

“ You are mistaken,” Jacques exclaimed, seeing that the 
doctor was alluding to Clemence, “ and I will show you 
that you are. We will start to-morrow.” 

Sure, without any delay, under any pretence what- 

_ 


1/6 WHAT P TERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

“ You may depend upon me.” 

“That is right. Now let us go home and go to bed, so 
that we may be all right in the morning,” 

They passed ,through the Casino and went out. There 
was a cab standing before the gate ; they awoke the 
driver, who was sound asleep upon his box, and ordered 
him to stop at the entrance of the harbor, after which 
they got into the vehicle. Slowly they rolled along the 
streets of the little slumbering city. They were both si- 
lent, reflecting upon what lay before them on the morrow. 
Suddenly the cab came to a halt upon the quay before the 
basin, and the cessation of the motion aroused them from 
their revery The pretty white yacht lay at anchor a 
hundred metres from the spot where they were, a foot- 
bridge affording communication between her and the land. 
The doctor alighted, and once more clasping Jacques’ 
hand, as if to infuse some of his own strength into him, 
said : “ Well, good-night ! I will stop and pick you up 
to-morrow ; it is directly on my road.” 

“No, no! Don’t take that trouble,” Jacques quickly 
replied. “We will meet at the station.” 

“ Be it so, then. Say an hour before train-time ; we will 
breakfast together at the buffet.” 

They parted. The cab rolled away toward Deauville, 
and the doctor traversed the narrow bridge and leaped to 
the deck of the yacht. 

The pressure of a hand upon his shoulder . awoke 
Davidoff next morning about nine o’clock. He opened 
his eyes and beheld Count Woreseff standing before him. 
The blue sky was visible through the cabin skylight, and 
the sunshine, reflected by the dancing waves, played ca- 
priciously over the maple wainscoting. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


177 


“ You are a sound sleeper this morning, my dear fel- 
low,” said the Russian nobleman with a smile ; “ this is 
the second time that I have been in your room and you 
did not even budge.” 



“ What is the matter, my dear* Count ? Is there any 
one sick on board ?” 

“ No, fortunately. I only wanted to know what your 


178 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


plans are to-day before giving my orders. I feel like go- 
ing to Cherbourg. Is that agreeable to you ?” 

“ Excuse me, Count,” said the doctor, “ but I would 
like to spend a few days in Paris if it will not inconven- 
ience you.” 

“ You are free to do as you please. But see how lucky 
it was that I came in to consult you,” Woreseff said good- 
naturedly, “ What would you have said if you had 
awakened and found yourself out at sea ?” 

“ You can’t imagine the consequences that such an es- 
capade would have entailed.” 

“ Well, get up. When you are on shore I will leave 
the harbor, and when you come back you will find the 
boat here in the basin, right in this very same place. 
But what is it that attracts you to Paris, where it must be 
terribly hot, while it is so. comfortable here?” 

It is a love-story,” the doctor gravely replied. “ A 
poor fellow that I am trying to save from a huzzy who . . .” 

“ Why don’t you say a woman ?” Woreseff coldly said, 
interrupting him. “ It is shorter and amounts to the same 
thing. My dear friend, believe a man who has suffered 
fearfully from their unjust treatment when he tells you 
that there is only one way of dealing with women, and 
that is the way that is practised by the Orientals : pure, 
unadulterated slavery. Tell that to your friend from 
me.” 

“ It is easy enough to tell him of it, but to make him 
believe it, that is another matter ! Besides, he has reached 
your theory of slavery . . . only it is he that is the slave !” 

“ Poor devil ! Well, good luck to you, Davidoff.” 

The Count lighted a cigarette, shook hands with his 
friend, and left the cabin. An hour later the yacht was 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 79 

pouring out clouds of smoke through her funnels and 
slowly steaming toward the open sea. 

When the doctor alighted from his cab at the railway 
station he found it void of travellers. The express was 
not to leave for some time yet. He went into the wait- 
ing-room : not a soul there. In the restaurant the lady 
cashier was yawning and reading the newspapers of the 
day before, while a travelling salesman, his box of sam- 
ples on the floor beside him, was taking his early nip. 
Davidoff went out and walked up and down the court- 
yard, watching to see if Jacques was coming. After wait- 
ing twenty minutes his impatience got the better of him 
and he started off toward Deauville, taking the road that 
led to Clemence’s villa and reflecting as he walked : 
“What is the meaning of this? Why is he late ? What 
new notion has got into his head ? Has he abandoned 
the idea of going with me ? And yet he was sincere last 
night . . . but he has seen that damnable woman anckall his 
good resolutions have been scattered to the winds. Who 
knows ? Perhaps he has even told her of our conversa- 
tion, so as to curry favor with her by his treachery. Any- 
thing might be expected from him in his doting, drivel- 
ling state of mind.” 

The doctor’s monologue had brought him to the door 
of the house ; he raised his eyes to the windows, which 
stood wide open. In the court-yard a stable-boy was 
washing down a victoria, whirling the wheels around with 
a rapid motion so that the wet spokes flashed in the sun- 
light. 

“At any cost I must know what I have to depend on,” 
Davidoff murmured, and he deliberately ascended the 


i8o 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


steps that led to a terrace and entered the vestibule of 
the villa. A servant responded to his ring. 

“ M. Jacques de Vignes?” inquired the doctor. 

“ M. de Vignes is not in.” 

“ Will he be in soon ?” 

“ I cannot say.” 

“ Is Mme. Villa at home ?” 

“ Madame is in the conservatory.” 

“ Give her my card and ask her if she will receive me.” 

The servant went away on his errand, and the doctor 
strolled aimlessly about the vestibule, casting an incurious 
look upon the furniture of carved oak, the jardinieres 
filled with flowers, the plaques fastened against the wall, 
and the great porcelain receptacle that was stuffed with 
umbrellas and sun-shades of many colors and canes of 
various woods. He said to himself : “ He is keeping out 
of my way ; that is clear enough ; . . . but Cl^mence may 
give me some information that will be of service. I am 
going to face the wild beast in her den. . . Bah ! I am not 
afraid of her ; she only devours those who offer them- 
selves for her banquet.” 

A portiere was raised and the domestic reappeared : 
“ If monsieur will follow me . . .” 

After they had crossed a salon and a boudoir, and had 
reached a glazed door through which masses of verdure 
were visible, the servant stood aside to let Davidoff pass. 
Clemence, a smile upon her lips and carrying a small 
watering-pot, came forward to meet him along a little 
path that was bordered with lycopodiums and wound in 
and out among the palms and gum-trees ; she wore a 
dress of pink foulard, with an antique belt of chased sil- 
ver, ornamented with uncut garnets, encircling her waist. 



WHA2' PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. l8l 

“How do you do, Doctor?” she said. “What lucky 
wind blows you this way?” With a pretty gesture she 
displayed her hands that had been slightly soiled by 


mould and merrily said : “ I am physician to the flowers. 
I was just holding a consultation over these plants.” 

“ I hope they are doing well ?” 

“ Pretty well, thanks.” She held up her watering-pot. 


i 82 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


“ I have been giving them a cooling drink, you see 

But to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” 

“ Might 1 not come simply for the pleasure of seeing 
you ?” 

She gave him a cold glance. “ That is very pretty, 
and I am very sensible of your politeness, but I know 
you better than to believe that. You are not a ladies’ 
man, and so, if you show yourself here, it is because you 
have some good reason for it.” 

“ Well,’ it is true ; I have a reason. I had an appoint- 
ment with Jacques for this morning. He failed to keep 
it, and I feared that he might be ill.” 

“ Ah !” Clemence ejaculated with a thoughtful air. 
She went to a little alcove where ther§ were an iron table 
and some chairs and took a seat. “ Yes, he certainly is 
ill,” she said. She raised her eyes with an expression of 
seriousness, and tapping her forehead with her pretty fin- 
ger : “ There is where his illness lies !” 

As Davidoff, in his desire to fathom the secret of this 
liaison, so full of danger, in his estimation, to his friend, 
refrained from answering, she continued : “ He made a 
terrible fuss with me this morning, and all about nothing, 
— a bit of a letter, of not the least importance, that he 
took from my dressing-table and chose , to get angry 
about, the mutton-head . . . just as if I didn’t know enough 
to hide anything that I didn’t want him to see. But he 
had one of his jealous fits ; he threatened me, he shouted 
and cried — yes, he cried. How stupid ! A snivelling 
man does not affect me in the least. He seems ridiculous 
to me.” 

“ Then you do not love him any longer?” 

“ Why, yes, I do. Certainly I don’t love him as I did 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 83 

six months ago ! Those passions are very nice, but it 
doesn’t answer to keep them up too long, for they would 
ruin one. I am in earnest ; I am good at figures. It was 
Selim Nufio who taught me arithmetic, and I got my 
money’s worth ! Now my stable alone costs me fifteen 
thousand francs a month. If I should attempt to live on 
love without money, even with the handsomest young 
fellow in the world, I should have to selj out my bonds, and 
then people would laugh at me in my old age. That 
won’t answer, my good friend !” 

“ Oh ! I know that you are a practical woman . . .” 

“ You mean to get off an epigram on me ; I take it as 
a compliment. Yes, I am a practical woman, and I am 
not ashamed to own it ! Jacques has treated me very 
well ; he has done things very honorably, but he gambles, 
and of late he has been losing. His temper gets sour ; 
he is a torment to me and a torment to himself. Why? 
I should like to know. If I had enough of him I would 
turn him out of doors and use no ceremony about it ; if 
he is tired of me, let him clear out. Only let us part 
decently, without scandal.” 

“ Would you like me to speak to him ?” 

“ If you will.” 

“ But where can I see him?” 

“ Right here.” 

“ He has not gone away, then, as the servant had 
orders to tell me?” 

“ Not a bit of it. Go and give him a good talking to.” 

“ That is just what I came for.” 

“Then you are twice welcome. Shall I take you to 
him ?” 

“ It will be very kind of you.” 


1 84 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

She laughed as she arose from her chair. “ It takes 
me to be kind !” 

“ So people say.” 

“ People are very talkative !” 

“ Why do you say that, my dear? That is the way to 
get a good name for yourself.” 

They passed through the salon. “You are with 
Woreseff on his yacht ?” she inquired. 

“Yes.” 

“ Does the dear Count still keep on running after Sul- 
tanas ?” 

“ Just the same.” 

“ There is a jolly dog for you ; he knows what life is. 
His wife will never know how good she was to him when 
she ...” 

“ Just so.” 

They had reached the first story. She stopped upon 
the landing, and pointing to a door, said : “ That is 
Jacques’ room.” 

As she stood there in her pink dress with her clear 
complexion and her bright eyes in the light that streamed 
in upon her from a window that opened on the sea, she 
was so beautiful that Davidoff stood still for a moment 
to look at her. He felt how great the seduction must 
be that emanated from this alluring and feline creature ; 
he divined the pleasure that men must feel in allowing 
themselves to be torn by those sharp and polished 
claws, to be devoured by those cruel white teeth. He 
recognized in her the sempiternal sphinx who feasts 
upon those audacious ones who seek to read her riddle. 
His look was such a clear expression of what was passing 
in his mind that Cl^mence answered it, smiling ; “ What 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 8$ 

would you have ? We must all look out for ourselves.” 
And lightly she tripped away down the staircase. 

Davidoff knocked at the door ; a voice in reply bade 
him enter. He turned the knob, and seated by the win- 
dow in a great arm-chair he beheld Jacques, sunken-eyed 
and with pallid lips. The young man became a shade 
paler as he saw the doctor, and a cloud passed across his 
brow. He arose and advanced slowly to meet his guest 
with outstretched hand. “ You are displeased with me?” 
he said. 

“ A little.” 

“ Only a little? I do not deserve so much indulgence. 
I told you last night that I am a coward ; well ! I was 
not long in giving you the proof of it.” His teeth were 
set and his features were painfully contracted. He in- 
spired pity in Davidoff, who seated himself at his side 
and addressed him affectionately. 

“ What has happened since we saw each other last 
night to keep you from fulfilling your engagement ? I 
should have thought that it would be a pleasure to you 
to keep it.” 

“ What pleasure can there be for me ?” Jacques replied 
in a low voice. “ I do nothing but what is abject and de- 
testable. Some wicked genie has taken possession of me 
and whispers to me only evil thoughts.” 

“ Resist it. Listen to me. Only a few hours ago you 
submitted yourself to my influence ; — do so again. Get 
your hat and overcoat and come with me ; there is still time 
to catch the train.” 

Jacques made a threatening gesture. “ No, I will not 
go away from here.” 

“ What Cl^mence told me is true, then ?” 


1 86 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

“ Ah ! SO you have seen her ? And she complained of 

me, did she not ? It is she who is the cause of it all 

Yes, she is destroying me, she is killing me ; what I suffer 
through her is beyond conception. What madness she 
has put into my head exceeds my comprehension. Do 
you know that I am jealous of her ? Yes, jealous ! Out- 
rageously jealous of a girl that has been, or will be, every- 
body’s ! What must be the moral condition that I have 
come to ! The language that we used to each other this 
morning was frightful ; she told me to leave the house ; 
do you understand ? to leave the house, as if I had been 
a lackey ! And I remained — and I still remain ! 
Why ? do you ask. Because I cannot do without this 
shameless creature, whom I feel like beating and caressing 
at the same time ; abject and adorable woman that she is, 
whom I am cursing here, separated from her by two 
floors, and to whom I would go down on my knees in 
prayer if she were at my side and exacted it of me !” 

Try to get away from her for a couple of days.” 

No ! no ! it is impossible ; I should find my place 
occupied on my return. You do not know what crowds 
surround her, what temptations are laid before her. . . . 
Oh ! she deceived me ; I had proof of it this morning — 
it was that which aroused my anger. But she is mine, all 
the same ; I have the most of her ; I can see her from 
morning till night. What a void there would be in my 
life were she removed from it ! No, I have sacrificed 
everything to this woman, I have made every interest 
subordinate to her, and I must retain her — or else it is all 
over with me.” He hid his face in his hands, and was 
silent for a few seconds ; then resumed in despairing ac- 
cents ; ‘‘ When my money is all gone she will turn me 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 87 

away ; that I know very well. She does not give credit. 

I have been compelled to have recourse to my banker, and 
I intend to gamble for the means of keeping up my way 
of life. It will not last very long, for luck is no longer on 
my side, but my mind is made up and I shall persist, al- 
though I see clearly what will be the inevitable ending of 
it. ... You see that it is not an easy thing to preach moral- 
ity to me, for I anticipate you and assume all the blame 
to myself. Let me go my way, my friend ; I am not 
worth the trouble that you would be at in trying to save 
me.” 

Davidoff had listened, sick at heart, but attentively and 
with pitying curiosity, to these wild disclosures. He was 
well acquainted with this passion that had brought so 
many men to moral stupefaction and to suicide ; he knew 
that it was constituted of the intoxication of the senses, 
of exasperated vanity, and in addition a kind of mysterious 
terror that seizes upon these rakes, accustomed as they 
are to the tumult of their feverish existence, at the thought 
that they shall henceforth have to lead a life of silence 
and isolation. After this prolonged feast to be alone 
again, with himself for sole companion ! It would be like 
coming out of a ball with the music still ringing in his 
cars and going and burying himself in la Trappe. It re- 
quires a mind of exceptional strength to stand so great a 
change. He said to Jacques : 

“ Come with me ; I give you my word that I will not 
leave you until you are quite recovered, physically and 
morally.” 

The young man burst out into harsh, nervous laughter. 

No, no,” he said ; “ leave me to myself ; I do not wish 
for your protection. I am doomed ; nothing will avail to 


i88 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


save me from the sentence of my destiny ; I have lived 
only for evil ; I am condemned to suffer all these tor- 
tures.” He lowered his voice as if in mortal fear : “You 
know that it is not I who am doing and suffering, speak- 
ing and weeping. There is another being within me who 
is hurrying me on to the catastrophe. Even if I wished 
to stop, I could not. Oh ! I feel that implacable soul 
stirring, furiously raging within me. It is jealous! It is 
revenging itself on me ! As long as it continues to ani- 
mate my body I shall never cease to suffer ; when I shall 
be freed from its presence ...” 

Davidoff frowned at this speech, and he was on the 
point of exclaiming to Jacques: “Are you crazy? Lau- 
der has disappeared, but Laurier is alive. I humored 
your fancy because I believed that confidence was the 
only thing that could restore you to life and health ; but 
as you have reached such a state of hallucination that that 
which caused your salvation is to-day working for your 
destruction, I ought to let you know the truth.” He was 
restrained by one consideration : “ He will not believe me. 
I must show him his friend cured of his moral malady in 
order that he may himself be cured.” 

He turned to the young man and said to him, very 
gently : “ Since you will not go with me to Paris, I will 
go alone. I will go and see your mother and sister.” 

A shadow clouded Jacques’ face, and his eyes glittered 
as if tears were about to fall. “ Thanks,” he said, in husky 
accents. “Try to obtain their pardon for me for all the 
evil I have done them. They are so good, so loving.” He 
arose, and his form was shaken by a terrible trembling. 
Oh, I am a wretch! and it would be better if I were 
dead !” 



WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 89 

Just then a clear, fresh voice came to them from the 
garden through the open window : “Jacques!” He hur- 
ried quickly toward it. Cl^mence was gathering roses 


among the flower-beds. She saw him, and gayly called : 
“ Well, have you finished your sulks ? The weather is 
charming ; come down, and we will go and take breakfast 
at Villers.” 

Jacques returned to Davidoff’s side, deeply agitated. 
“ You see, she is calling me, she is waiting for me,” he 
said. “ She is not so bad as I said she was She is ter- 



1 90 PVBAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

rible at times, but then she loves me at the bottom of her 
heart Come, my friend.” 

He hurried to the staircase, and they descended to the 
vestibule. There Jacques gave the doctor a warm clasp 
of the hand, and as if impatient to be left alone with Cle- 
mence, said : “ Adieu ! Again pardon me. . . . Comfort 
my mother . . . and cure my sister. . . . Oh, do that, above 
all things ! . . . Poor child ! . . . Adieu !” 

With rapid steps he moved away toward the garden 
where his pitiless tyrant was awaiting him. Davidoff, 
when once in the street, hurried away with long strides. 
Through an opening in the foliage he caught a glimpse of 
the white yacht steaming out of the harbor, trailing her 
plume of black smoke behind her. He said to himself : 
“ I am free ; let us take advantage of it.” 

He went to the telegraph-office, took a blank and, 
standing at the wicket, wrote as follows : 

“ Pierre Laurier, care of M, le Cur^ of Torrevecchio^ Cor- 
sica : 

“ Return at once. Your presence necessary. See no 
one on alighting from train, and join me at Grand Hotel. 

Davidoff.” 

He handed the despatch to the clerk, paid it, and went 
out, murmuring : “ If I cannot save the brother, I will at 
least endeavor to save the sister.” And then he took the 
train for Paris. 


VI. 


Davidoff’s despatch was handed to Pierre Laurier on 
the day of Agostino’s marriage to the daughter of a rich 
farmer of San Pellegrino. . The sailor had made quite a 
little fortune by his traffic along the shores of the Mediter- 
ranean and was able to bring his bride six thousand 
francs, while she, a strong, brown mountain lass of six- 
teen, was owner of a house and an olive-field. The young 
people had loved each other for a year, and so the mar- 
riage had been agreed upon on Agostino’s giving his 
promise to give up the sea. 

The people were coming from the church, and there 
was a sharp, crackling discharge of musketry in congrat- 
ulation of the auspicious event as the newly married 
couple passed among the crowd, as if the vendetta had 
arrayed one half of the country against the other. 
Hurrahs burst from the cortege, every face was bright with 
gladness, and in the brilliant sunshine, in the summer 
heat and the fumes of gunpowder, a kind of intoxication 
seemed to have taken possession of the brains of the 
whole company. Pierre, with little Marietta on his arm, 
to whose brides-maid he had played best man in the 
church, allowed his delighted glance to wander over every 
detail of this striking and original fete, already framing 
in his mind the conception of the fine picture that resulted 
from it and that subsequently acquired popularity under 
the title of A Corsican Wedding, 

His mind had regained its firmness and his heart 

191 



192 ’ WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

was at rest. His memory was unclouded by a shadow. 
He was entirely wrapped up in witnessing the happiness 
of these people whom he loved, and in whose patriarchal 


mode of living he had found oblivion for his unhealthy 
passions and a renewal of his manly strength. 

The whole company was on its way to the house of 
the bride’s father, there to enjoy a banquet in honor of 
the occasion. Just as they were coming out in front of 
the farm-house an urchin, who generally acted as choir- 
boy to the good cur^ of Torrevecchio, rushed through 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 1 93 

the throng, and running up to the venerable priest, handed 
him a blue envelope that had been left at the presbytery. 
The child, with his strong little mountain legs, had only 
taken an hour in traversing the distance between Torre- 
vecchio and San Pellegrino. He was breathless, perspir- 
ing and covered with dust. 

The cure read the address, and turning immediately to 
Pierre : ' “ Take it, dear child,” he affectionately said, “ it 
is for you.” 

A circle had already formed about the young man, who, 
with anxiety upon his face and compressed lips, was hold- 
ing the message in his hand without opening it. 

“ What is it ?” Agostino asked uneasily. 

“ It is that blue paper,” said the urchin, “ that was just 
now brought from Bastia by a messenger. He was sent 
express, as it seems that the matter was urgent. Then 
Maddalena, M. le Curb’s servant, said to me, ‘ Run quick, 
and do not stop for anything until you have seen Mon- 
sieur. There is something of importance ... for a paper 
like that has not been seen in Torrevecchio for three 
years !’ So I took all the short-cuts and here I am.” 

He wiped his dripping face on his sleeve as he spoke, 
laughing and showing his fine white teeth, delighted to 
have done his errand so well. 

You shall have a glass of Tollano and something to 
eat with us, Jacopo,” said Agostino. He pushed the 
child over toward his father-in-law and his relations, and 
deeply troubled by the anxiety that was evident on 
Pierre’s features : “ What is it ?” he repeated. 

Pierre leisurely tore open the envelope, unfolded the 
telegram, and read the urgent appeal that had been sent 
him by his friend. He turned pale; his heart sank, and 


194 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


his eyes retreated deep within the caverns formed by the 
contracted brows. 

Is there something wrong ?” Agostino inquired. 

“ No,” said the painter, ‘‘ at least I hope not. But I 
must start for the main land without delay.” 

“ What ! go away at such a time !” the sailor sorrow- 
fully exclaimed. “You will not leave us before the end 
of the fete ; — wait until to-morrow, anyway.” 

“If you had been told while you were across the sea 
that your fiancee was ill and might die while you were 
away,” gravely replied Pierre, “would you have delayed 
your departure ?” 

Agostino warmly clasped his preserver’s hand, and with 
tears in his eyes : “ No ; you are right,” he said. “ But 

you must know you are causing me a great sorrow.” 

Pierre took the young man aside, and with a sudden 
outburst of emotion that enlightened Agostino as to the 
character and circumstances of his friend, addressed him 
thus: “We must do nothing to sadden your wife and 
your relatives and guests. It is four leagues from here to 
Torre vecchio by the road. I am going to take a light 
carriage from the inn ; I mean to go alone. Once I am 
over the mountain you will explain the reason of my de- 
parture and thank every one here for the cordiality and 
kindness that they have shown me. I assure you that I 
shall never forget the happy days that I have spent 
among you in this country. I was very ill in brain and 
heart, and you, by your wise and beneficent tranquillity, 
have made me well again. I have forgotten the sorrows 
from which I thought that I was about to die, and it is 
to you that I owe it : to your mother, who has been so 
kind to me ; to your little sister, whose naive grace of 


IF//AT PIERRE DID WITH HlS SOUL. 


195 


manner has often reminded me of the young girl who is 
waiting for me in my own country ; and finally to you, 
good fellow that you are, who were the cause that when, 
in a moment of desperation, I was about to end my life, 
I chose to live in order to try to save yours. You re- 
stored me to myself ; it was you who made me feel that 
my lot still lay with humanity. No ; I shall never forget 
you, and, in sorrow or in joy, often will my memory turn 
to all my old friends here.” 

At these words Agostino could not restrain his tears 
and commenced to sob, more distressed than if he had 
been losing one of his own family, while the wedding- 
guests, engrossed in their pleasures, were singing, shout- 
ing, and firing their muskets in the orchard. Pierre 
quieted the good fellow, and then, speaking with firmness, 
said : 

“ Now, try and understand me clearly. I must get to 
Paris just as quickly as possible. When does the next 
boat leave Bastia and where does it go to ?” 

The Morelli line has a boat leaving for Marseilles 
every Tuesday. You can secure your berth when you 
reach the city to-night and early to-morrow morning you 
will be at sea. From Bastia to Marseilles it is thirty 
hours.” 

“ In three days I shall be in Paris, then. You will 
allow me to forward from there, dear Agostino, some 
little remembrances for the dear women of your family 
You need have no scruples ; you have seen me dressed, 
like a peasant for nearly a year, but I am not poor. 
Silence that Corsican pride of yours ; from a brother you 
may accept all things for mother, sister, and wife. Think 
of me, and be assured that you will see me again ; perhaps 


ig6 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

when I revisit the island I shall not come alone ; in that 
case Heaven will have taken pity on me and I shall have 
regained my happiness. Embrace me, and until that 
time, farewell!” 



The two men pressed each other to their hearts as they 
had done that night when they were tossed by the sullen 
waves beneath the pale moon, and when they parted it 
was with a mingled accompaniment of smiles and tears. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


197 


Half an hour later Pierre was tearing along the road to 
Torrevecchio in his carriole ^ and having packed up his 
pictures and sketches, reached Bastia that same night. 
He alighted at the inn where he had passed his first night 
upon Corsican soil, went and secured his passage on board 
the steamer, and then entered a ready-made clothing-store 
and replaced his velvet attire by a full suit of blue cloth 
that became him very well. 

When he had put on his more civilized clothing and 
was buttoned up in his closely-fitting waistcoat and sack, 
a restraint to which he had not been subjected for many 
a long month, he heaved a sigh. 

It seemed to him that he was leaving behind him that 
young and independent Pierre Laurier who had worked 
ten hours a day with such delight beneath the bright, 
clear sky, among the vivifying odors of the pines and 
junipers, and that he was about to be transformed again 
into the enslaved, nerveless Pierre Laurier of old, cursing 
his fate and doubtful of his future, spending his time be- 
tween the alcove of a courtesan and the gambling-table at 
the club. He raised his head. Night was coming on, but 
the moon, like a great silver shield, was shedding her 
light upon the mountain-side through the thick clumps of 
chestnuts, bathing the overhanging rocks in her pure re- 
splendency. The air came from the forest, balmy and 
perfumed, and caressed the young man’s brow like the 
soft touch of a bird’s wing. He felt himself inspired with 
new life, as by a cheering recollection. He looked out 
over the sea, which was rolling in long, peaceful swells, 
and murmured: “You may bear me away now; I no’ 
longer fear you, nor those from whom you part me.” 
His moment of uneasiness passed from him, and as he 


198 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

was upon the point of making the supreme trial that was 
to shape his life, he discovered that he was master of his 
thoughts and of his senses. 

He no longer felt within him the degrading, passionate 
throbbing of the heart for her whom he had loved so 
madly. He had courage to summon up her vision, and 
he beheld her, with her narrow forehead crowned with 
its black hair, her beautiful eyes with their long, sweep- 
ing lashes, her intoxicating glance and her voluptuous 
lips. Suddenly he was enveloped in the woman’s 
subtile perfume, perfidious summons of the past. There 
was no responsive echo within his being ; he remained 
unstirred and contemptuously cold. It was ended ; he 
loved ^ler no longer ; the charm was dispelled, the philter 
had lost its virtue. He was master of himself once more, 
and his free heart was his again to offer to whom he would. 
Then Juliette’s image appeared before him in its pure 
and gentle chastity, and Laurier’s eyes were wet with 
tears. His trembling lips whispered an avowal, and all 
his being went out through intervening space toward the 
one he loved. 

The boat put out of the harbor at nine o’clock the next 
morning. Pierre caught a glimpse of the wharf near 
which the Saint Laurence was lying at anchor while he 
was repainting the wooden image of her patron saint, 
the mole, the bastion of the Dragon, and then successively 
Cape Corso, Giraglia, and the coast of Italy. As the 
steamer churned her way rapidly through the water he 
retraced the whole route that he had gone over while he 
was on board the little smuggler. 

As he drew nearer to the shores of France, his mind 
anxiously sought to fathom the reason of Davidoff’s sud- 


WHAT PI EE RE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


199 


den summons home. He began to be disturbed by a 
secret uneasiness, for he feared that there was bad news. 
What could it be? The words of the letter that the 
doctor had written him after his visit to Torrevecchio 
came to his mind : “ A person, a near relative of Jacques, 

came near dying on account of your death.” Could it 
mean Juliette, and that her condition had been growing 
worse ? Was he to reach home only to see her fade away 
at the very moment when all his hopes were centring in 
her? And yet the letter contained these words as well: 
“You passed close by happiness and saw it not,. . .but it 
is yet within your power to find it again.” Was this hap- 
piness about to escape him a second time ? Pretty as she 
was, must not the young girl have gained for herself some 
man’s love ? Had not another, while he was far away, 
taken his place to heal the wound that was bleeding in 
her heart where she dwelt in loneliness ? 

A feeling of profound sadness took possession of Pierre’s 
mind at the thought that the supplication that he had 
addressed to destiny might pass unheeded, and he felt 
that this disappointment would be to him a decisive 
stroke, breaking him down and killing him. He was 
devoured by a thirst for more intelligence ; on board the 
steamer that was cleaving the blue waves he would have 
wished for some means of communication with Davidoff ; 
he stretched his hands forth toward the land, as if the re- 
assuring news that he hoped for were awaiting his arrival 
there. He envied the albatross its rapid flight as it sailed 
above him, white and solitary, in the deep sky. He 
walked incessantly, with nervous steps, from bow to stern. 
In his agitated condition it seemed as if he were trying to 
make the engine work more rapidly. 



upon the golden sands. His heart beat more rapidly as 
he descried in the distance the Chateau d’lf, dark and 
stern in the gathering night, and Marseilles with her flam- 
ing light-houses, like great eyes peering out into immen- 
sity. He loaded his scanty baggage upon the back of a 
porter, sprang nimbly across the gang-plank, selected a 
cab upon the wharf and told the driver to take him to the 


200 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 


He did not sleep, remaining upon deck scanning the 
horizon. He passed successively Genoa, Monaco, Nice, 
Antibes, Toulon, skirting that enchanted shore where 
the trees dip their branches in the pellucid sea, where the 
waves murmur with a sound inviting- sleep as they expire 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


201 


railway-station. He required no time to rest ; nothing 
could divert him from his resolve to get to Paris as 
quickly as possible. The express did not leave until 
half-past eleven and he had an hour to wait ; he went to 
the telegraph-office and sent this message to Davidoff : 

Landed Marseilles ; will reach Paris to-morrow evening 
six o’clock.” 

When he had seen the receiver hand his despatch over 
to the operator he felt some alleviation of his anxiety, as 
if some portion of him had gone forward in advance. He 
went to the station restaurant, where he ate something 
without appetite, for the sake of killing time. Finally the 
train was made up and the gates opened ; he went and 
ensconced himself in a compartment, where he abandoned 
himself to the delight of the rapid motion. Buried in his 
corner, his eyes closed, though he did not sleep, he did 
not move hand or foot, counting the stations that sepa- 
rated him from his destination as a prisoner marks off upon 
a calendar the days that separate him from liberty. 

At daybreak, however, his strength failed him and he 
fell into an uneasy slumber ; he had not slept a wink for 
fifty hours.. When he awoke, with a joyful feeling of sur- 
prise that he had got a little the better of time in his im- 
patience, it was broad daylight and the train was rushing 
into Macon. On either side of the track the rich fields of 
Burgundy, so fertile, so smiling, so full of health, were 
flying past him in a flood of sunshine. Pierre felt that 
he was nearing the country of his home ; he again beheld 
a landscape that for a year had been a stranger to his 
eyes. No more olives, pines, and cacti rising from the 
scanty yellow herbage ; no more red rocks and foaming 
torrents ; no more shepherds armed with their muskets, 


202 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 



watching from the elevation of some knoll the wanderings 
of their few sheep and frolicsome goats. In their place 
were peasants, large of frame and at the same time active, 


driving along the golden furrows their great white oxen 
harnessed in pairs to the heavy plough. And wide plains 
there were, covered with the ripening harvest, vineyards 
where the vines were weighed down by the heavy clusters, 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


.203 


broad expanses of dark green forest, the whole intersected 
by roads bordered with bright turf and stretching away 
in long perspective. It was central France that he was 
contemplating in its rich beauty, not soft and sunny 
Provence or stern, grand Corsica. 

The horizon kept flying past as the wheels whirled 
around, the train shot along past hills and valleys and 
over rivers, and Pierre gradually sank into an anxious 
revery, asking himself with fruitless persistency what could 
have induced Davidoff to summon him home so precipi- 
tately. When the train was approaching Paris he was 
again seized with a feverish restlessness ; his watch was 
out of his pocket more than twenty times between Melun 
and the great city. When they passed the fortifications 
he arose from his seat and began to make preparations for 
alighting. At last the whistle sounded the signal to slow 
down, the wheels thumped and rattled over the switches, 
and in the midst of a crowd of laborers assembled to in- 
spect the travellers, the train drew up alongside the plat- 
form. 

Pierre leaped from the car-step to the ground and was 
instantly seized in two strong arms that gave him a vigor- 
ous embrace. He uttered an exclamation of joy as he 
raised his eyes and recognized Davidoff, and giving in 
turn a hearty squeeze to the hands of his faithful friend, 
he drew him to one side. “ Well ?” he asked, concentrat- 
ing all his anxiety and curiosity in one short question. 

“ Be calm,” said the Russian, who understood Laurier’s 
uneasiness, Juliette is not in any immediate danger.” 

Pierre gave a deep sigh, as if his heart were relieved from 
a great burthen. “And Jacques?” he inquired. 

“Ah ! Jacques,” Davidoff replied, “ it is his case that is 



that was streaming toward the door of the station. 
** What luggage have you ?” 

“ This valise in my hand, and a case in the baggage-car.” 

“Come along; we will leave the case for the hotel 
people to attend to, for you must come with me ; I don’t 

mean to let you out of my sight In place of awaiting 

you at the hotel, as I said I would do in my telegram, I 


204 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


bothering me now more than anything But don’t let 

us stay here; people are watching us.” He took the 
painter’s arm and led him away in the midst of the throng 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 205 

thought it better to come and meet you ; I was afraid you 
might commit some imprudence. Do you know that if' 
Mile, de Vignes were to see you unexpectedly the shock 
might prove fatal to her?” 

They conversed as their cab rolled along the boulevard, 
and Laurier found plenty of employment for his eyes and 
ears in looking and listening. The activity of Paris after 
twenty hours of the motion of the train and two days of 
the rolling of the steamer, all this noise and bustle coming 
upon him so brusquely after his peaceful and retired life 
at Torrevecchio, inflamed his brain, dazzled his sight, and 
deafened his hearing. He did his best to listen to David- 
off and understand him, but he was weary in body and 
abnormally excited in mind. He said : “ The journey has 
quite knocked me up, and yet I don’t feel as if I could 
rest ” 

“ For three days you have been living on your nervous 
strength ; I am going to give you something to set you 
up. Trust in me; if I never had any patients in worse 
shape than you are ” 

The carriage entered the court of the Grand Hotel. 
They alighted, and, followed by a waiter carrying Laurier’s 
valise, went up to Davidoff’s apartment. There was a 
sitting-room between Laurier’s bedroom and the Rus- 
sian’s. When they were tete-k-tete they looked at each 
other in silence for a moment, then the doctor, motioning 
his friend to a seat, said : “ Sit down ; we will have dinner 
here and talk over matters meanwhile, and if you behave 
yourself, perhaps I will do something for you this very 
evening.” 

Pierre’s eyes began to shine. “ What !” he exclaimed, 
“you will allow me to see her?” 


2o6 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


Davidoff laughed. “ At all events, no one can accuse 
you of not saying what you mean !” he said. ‘‘ See her I 
Are we to discuss her, and no other subject ? Well, well, 
you are right ; it is of her that we must talk. I have been 
here since the beginning of the week, and have been pre- 
paring her mind gradually for the miracle of your resur- 
rection. For many long months, now, she has been la- 
menting you in the secret recesses of her soul. At the 
very first words that I uttered implying that there was a 
doubt as to whether you were dead or not she seemed to 
rally, but in such a way as to terrify her mother and my- 
self. She was seized with a burning fever. She is so very 
weak ! By a phenomenon so strange as to be almost in- 
credible, your disappearance had this twofold consequence : 
it endowed Jacques with strength sufficient to keep him 
from dying, and it took from Juliette the courage of living. 
She has been slowly pining and wasting away, like a flower 
stung by some invisible insect. As to her brother . . . 
but it is better to speak only of her.” 

“Is it so very distressing, then, what you have to tell 
me in relation to Jacques?” 

“ Shocking, morally and physically. This week, driven 
by his imperious need of ready money, he has forced the 
sale at auction of the real-estate that is owned jointly by 
his mother and sister and him. The warnings of the 
notary, Mme. de Vignes’ prayers, all have been to no 
purpose! He insists on realizing, regardless of what the 
property may bring, caring nothing for the great loss that 
will be entailed on them all by this forced sale. He is 
mad, and his madness is dangerous !” 

“ But this madness, by what or by whom is it caused ?” 

“ By love. A woman has been the ruin of this wretched 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 20 / 

man, who was before only too well disposed to give way 
to the basest weakness.” 

“ And this woman is so seductive that he cannot be 
enticed away from her, so strong that he cannot be taken 
from her by force?”' 

She is the strongest, most seductive, most dangerous 
woman in the world ! And if I were to tell you her 
name ” 

Pierre turned ghastly pale at these words, his eyes 
stared wildly, and his lips parted as if to ask a question or 
utter a name that he saw ready to fall from the doctor’s 
mouth. He did not have time; Davidoff smiled bitterly, 
and giving the painter a look that seemed to read the 
secrets of his heart : 

“Ah! you understand me, I see,” said he. “Yes, 
Clemence Villa is the woman into whose clutches Jacques 
has fallen. She loved him ardently, and he loved her — 
just as every one loves her. At the end of three months 
she changed and became as cold as marble, but he is more 
impassioned, more madly in love than ever. But what 
need is there of my attempting to describe to you his 
mental condition? To understand it you have only to 
look back into your own recollection.” 

As Laurier continued motionless and speechless, his 
head bowed upon his breast, the Russian added with 
energy : “ He adores her, Pierre ; do you understand ? he 

adores her, still warm from your caresses And he 

lives for her alone!” 

The painter raised his head and spoke in a mournful 
voice, with deep compassionateness : “ Unhappy man ! 
For her, for a creature like her, he has forgotten all, lost 


208 what PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

all ! But he is to be pitied rather than condemned 

She is so terrible !” 

Davidoff’s face lighted up at these words, his eyes 
sparkled with joy ; he went up to his friend, and speaking 
with an affectation of irony : “ So, you feel no emotion in 
your heart for Jacques except pity?” 

“ What other sentiment should I feel ? Should I blame 
him, after having shown myself weaker and more culpable 
than he? No, I cannot help but pity him!” 

Davidoff took Pierre’s hand, and clasping it warmly: 
^‘And this reminiscence of your old love does not stir 
your heart? It brings no emotion to your mind? Is 
there no return of kindness for the woman, no feeling of 
irritation for the friend ?” 

“So that is what you were afraid of?” exclaimed 
Laurier, whose pale visage suddenly became suffused with 
color. “You were wondering if I were indeed cured of 
my senseless passion, and you tested me to ascertain ? 
Ah! you need not distrust me; speak candidly.... You 
doubted me?” 

“Yes,” said Davidoff with decision. “I wanted to 
know whether, perhaps unknown to yourself. . .” 

“ Ah ! question me, scrutinize my thoughts,” cried 
Pierre. “You will discover there only bitter sorrow 
for the faults that I have committed, and the sincere desire 
to atone for them. You would never have looked upon 
my face again had I not considered myself worthy to 
receive a pure affection and capable of responding to it 
by an unalterable tenderness. Distrust me not, then, 
Davidoff. The Pierre Laurier that you knew died one 
stormy night, and the man that stands before you, if he 
wears the same face, fortunately has not the same heart !” 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 209 

“That is good,” said Davidoff, cheerfully. “That is 
one load less upon my conscience. If I had not been 
able to place entire dependence upon you, I don’t know 
how I should have got through with the task that I have 
undertaken. It is full of care and difficulty. You will 
have to face Clemence ” 

“ If it is absolutely necessary I will do it, but it will be 
a severe trial.” 

“ Of course !” replied the Russian, with a smile. “ But 
certainly not so much so as it would have been a while ago. 
We must do all we can to snatch Jacques from her claws, 
and it will require nothing less than your intervention to 
give us success. We can let this matter stand for the 
present, however; let us talk of Mile, de Vignes.” 

The light returned to Pierre’s countenance. At the 
same moment dinner was brought in ; the two friends 
seated themselves at table, and for an hour conversed with 
complete frankness, Pierre telling the story of his sojourn 
at Torrevecchio, and the doctor explaining to the painter 
all that had happened in his absence. In this way they 
were enabled to satisfy themselves, Davidoff that Laurier 
was, as he had asserted, radically cured of his dangerous 
passion, and Laurier that Davidoff in recalling him so 
hastily had acted with as much decision as wisdom. To- 
ward nine o’clock they went downstairs and took the 
road toward Mme. de Vignes’ house. 

On the boulevard, under the influence of a lovely sum- 
mer night, Pierre felt his heart moved by an impulse of 
hope and joy ; he raised his eyes toward heaven and re- 
pented that he had ever allowed himself to doubt the 
existence of happiness. 

Davidoff had given Mme. de Vignes to understand 


210 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 



what was going on four days previously, arid she had be- 
held the future, that had appeared to her so dark, illu- 
mined by a faint glimmer of light. The certain assurance 
that Pierre Laurier was alive, the confidence with which 
Davidoff declared that the painter loved Juliette and 
could love no one else, had brought a little comfort to 


the mother. In the midst of her sorrows, having every- 
thing to apprehend from the misconduct of her son and 
everything to fear for her daughter, the prospect of re- 
storing to Juliette health and peace of mind was a very 
agreeable one. What were cares of money compared to 
the anxieties which she experienced on account of her 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


21 1 


daughter’s constantly failing condition ? She had re- 
ceived Davidoff as her preserver. 

Carefully imparting his confidences little by little, he 
had begun by implanting in Mile, de Vignes’ mind some 
small seeds of hope that had taken root readily as in 
a fertile soil. This seed had fructified and extended its 
roots, and now the perfect flower was formed and ready 
to bloom and was only waiting for one last ray of suns 
shine. Since the early part of the week Juliette, without 
proofs, without any reasonable explanation of her belief 
beyond her ardent desire to see the miracle realized, had 
firmly believed that Pierre was still alive. 

Davidoff’s ‘‘ people say-sos” had been eagerly received 
by the young girl. What improbability was there in 
Pierre having been met by those travellers who asserted 
that they had recognized him after he had been saved by 
some sailors and taken aboard a small trading-vessel ? 
What was there so strange, he having announced his sui- 
cide and then having failed to carry it into execution, 
that he should feel ashamed and remain in seclusion for 
nearly half a year ? Why should he not have allowed the 
de Vignes family to remain ignorant that he was still 
alive? There was nothing improbable in all that, and 
the young girl felt such an imperious necessity of admit- 
ting the truth of it that she would have believed much 
stranger stories. 

Every day Davidoff, pursuing the treatment of his 
moral cure, rendered an account to Juliette of the discov- 
eries that had been made by the inquiry that he was sup. 
posed to be conducting, and every day he saw that dulled, 
chilled soul awaking to new life. It was a charming 
sight, that timid putting-forth of leaf and flower. Juliette 


212 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


hoped, and yet she feared to hope, and at times she drew 
back in fear from the descent toward which her imagina- 
tion was impelling her. If, after this period of happiness, 
she was to have to fall back into her former gloom and 
sorrow? If there was no truth in what they had been 
telling her — if Pierre had not survived ? 

She was prey to a most horrible inquietude. It seemed 
to her impossible that death could have snatched away 
in a second this quick-witted and vigorous young man. 
She recalled what her brother had said to her at Beaulieu : 
“ His body has not been recovered.” At that time she 
had not received the doubt as a hope, but now was it 
not plain that if the sea had not cast his corpse back upon 
the shore it was because he had escaped its cruel waves, 
had emerged from its glaucous depths and was alive ? 
This thought had impressed itself so deeply upon her 
woman’s brain that to remove it material proofs would 
have been required. To convince her who loved him 
that Pierre was dead, it would have been necessary to 
show her his lifeless body. 

That same morning Davidoff had ventured to say 
to her : I dined yesterday with some people who 
met our friend in Italy and conversed with him. We 
may look to see him coming home some of these days.” 

She had looked at the doctor for an instant with strange 
intentness, then had said : “ Why do you not tell me all ? 
Are you afraid that my joy will be too great ? You are 
wrong. I am convinced now that he is alive ; I saw him 
in a dream last night. He was in a church, a poor village 
church, and was busying himself with a holy work. His 
face was sad, oh ! very sad, and tears ran down his cheek 
at times, — I felt that he was thinking of me. I wanted 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


213 


to cry out : ‘ Pierre, return ; we are waiting for you ; our 
separation has lasted too long, our sorrow has been too 
great. Return, and we will welcome you with gladness.’ 
But a kind of mist arose between him and me, so that I 
could only distinguish him very faintly, like a vague 
shadow, and I heard distinctly the sound of the waves, as 
when the surf beat upon the rocks at Beaulieu when the 
sea was rough. Then the vapor was dissipated, as a veil 
that is torn aside, and I saw him again. He was coming 
toward me, with a smile upon his face ; he made me a 
gesture with his hand as if to say: ‘Have patience; I 
am here.’ Then I awoke, trembling and in fear. . . . But 
I have confidence ; he is not far from us. Perhaps he is 
in Paris ?’-’ 

Davidoff was at a loss what to think of this ; he asked 
the young girl : “ Can you describe for me the church that 
you mention ?” 

“ Yes,” replied Mile, de Vignes. “ It is situated upon 
the principal square of a little village. The front is of 
red sand-stone, with a portico of brick over the entrance, 
the interior whitewashed and very meagrely furnished — 
a few wooden benches, a pulpit devoid of ornament, an 
altar of the greatest plainness.” 

“ And the picture that Pierre was at work on, did you 
look at it, can you recall it ?” 

“Yes. It was an open grave, and the dead had come 
to life and were standing at the mouth of the tomb. I re- 
garded it as an omen.” 

Davidoff shook his head, greatly struck by this extraor- 
dinary revelation. It was evident that he had caused 
Mile, de Vignes to behold in her mental vision the church 
of Torrevecchio and the picture of the Resurrection by 


214 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

some unexplained process of the mind, but how could he 
explain the sound of the dashing waves that the young 
girl had heard at the very time when Pierre was on the 
sea? He remained silent, and notwithstanding Juliette’s 
urgent instances would give her no further information, 
but his attitude, his words and the expression of his face 
all announced that something was about to happen 
shortly. The doctor left the house, leaving the young 
girl in a state of excited curiosity that he did not consider 
unfavorable. 

When he reached Mme. de Vignes’ door that evening 
about nine o’clock, in company with him whose presence 
was so ardently desired, he was seized with a violent beat- 
ing of the heart. He grasped his friend’s arm, and indi- 
cating to him the last window of the entresol : “ Remain 
here in the street,” he said, “ and keep your eyes fixed on 
this window ; when you see me show myself at it come^ 
upstairs at once, but not until then. I am going to pre- 
pare them for your reception. ... I am more anxious than 
I can tell you.” 

He entered the house and left the painter standing on 
the sidewalk. When alone, Laurier was seized with an 
emotion similar to that w^hich he had experienced on the 
promontory of Torrevecchio when, after the receipt of 
Davidoff’s letter, he had asked himself if he was worthy 
ever to look upon Juliette again. A kind of mystical 
tenderness filled his soul while he was awaiting the mo- 
ment when he might present himself before the girl ; his 
thoughts were serious and devout, with the feeling that a 
duty of atonement lay before him. He manifested no 
impatience, but the happy serenity of a convert who is 




X 











WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 21 5 

about to abjure his errotrs, receive his pardon and live 
at peace with Heaven and earth. 

He was standing with his back against the wall, his 
eyes fixed upon the window and his thoughts dwelling 
upon what was passing in the dark and silent room. 
Nothing stirred, all was still. A great peacefulness came 
and filled the young man’s mind. One single feeling ex- 
isted within him: his love for Juliette. He recalled the 
child’s timid and ingenuous love, he reckoned up the 
sufferings that she had endured of which he had been the 
cause, and in the darkness of the night, standing face to 
face with his own conscience, he swore to himself that he 
would endeavor to make her forget them in her happi- 
ness. 

At this moment the window was faintly illuminated 
from within and Doctor Davidolf appeared and with his 
hand signalled to his friend. Laurier rushed forward and 
flew up the stairs with a beating heart. The door stood 
open, he passed through the vestibule, entered the draw- 
ing-room, and there, standing with her mother in front of 
the fire-place, he beheld Juliette. He stood motionless, 
with faltering look and legs that barely sustained their 
burthen. 

She appeared to him taller than before, but perhaps 
this was because she was thinner and paler. Her slen- 
der white hands stood out transparently white against 
her black dress, evincing how she must have suffered ; 
her eyes, bearing the marks of the tears that she had shed, 
shone soft and luminous. She smiled and looked at 
Pierre, as Pierre looked at her. He was very agreeable 
in her sight, with his sun-burnt visage in its setting of 
brown beard, which he had allowed to grow. She dis- 


2i6 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


cerned upon his brow the traces of his grief and experi- 
enced a secret delight in seeing them there, an offset, as 



it were, to her own sufferings. All at once her smile was 
dashed with tears, and quickly raising her handkerchief 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 21 / 

to her eyes she sank into an easy-chair and burst into a 
fit of sobbing. 

Pierre gave utterance to a suppressed cry, and recover- 
ing at last from his immovability, he rushed to her .and 
threw himself at her feet, supplicating and beseeching her 
to pardon him. Mme. de Vignes had anxiously ap- 
proached her daughter, but Davidoff reassured her with a 
glance. Then the mother and the physician, seeing that 
the two young people were oblivious to everything but 
their recollections of the past and their hopes for the 
future, left them to enjoy the sweetness of their interview 
without the restraint of their presence. 

When they returned to disturb the tete-a-tete, they 
found Pierre and the girl seated beside each other, hand 
clasped in hand. Juliette was talking now, telling the 
tale of her grief and her despair. She was smiling as she 
recalled all her sufferings, and it was now Laurier’s turn 
to weep. 

“ My friends,’’ said Davidoff, “we have kept the prom- 
ises that we made you : you are happy. That is well, 
but we must not abuse our good fortune. Mile, de 
Vignes is not so strong yet that she can be allowed to 
take her pleasures except in . small doses, so that will 
answer for one session. Besides, you will have plenty of 
opportunities to meet again.” 

Then Juliette made use of all her blandishments to 
persuade her mother to let them have another quarter of 
an hour, and Mme. de Vignes could not find it in her heart 
to cast a shadow on the pretty face that now wore a smile 
for the first time in so long a while. She felt assured now 
that youth was about to be victorious over death, which 
such a little time ago was dragging it downward toward 


2i8 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


the grave, and the bitter feeling that she had experienced 
against Pierre Laurier as the involuntary author of all 
these woes was at once dissipated by the change which 
his presence had effected in Juliette’s condition. So they 
remained, all four of them, oblivious to the flight of time, 
listening to Pierre’s story of life in the little Corsican vil- 
lage. Juliette could not help loving Agostino, Marietta, 
the old mother and the good cur^, and the promise that 
Pierre had made to return and visit his friends in Tor- 
revecchio she, also, with a burst of grateful feeling, men- 
tally confirmed. It was midnight before they separated. 

“You will not see us to-morrow,” Davidoff said to his 
patient, with a smile. Then as he saw a cloud, pass over 
her face, he added : “You must consider others as well 
as yourself, my child. We have another case to look 
after that will prove more serious and more difficult to 
treat even than your own. We must start for Trouville 
early in the morning to see what we can do for your 
brother.” 

The selfishness with which the girl’s happiness was 
alloyed instantly vanished. The consciousness returned 
to her of the distressing situation in which she and her 
mother were placed, and her strong good sense immedi- 
ately resumed its authority over her. She shook hands' 
with Davidoff, and addressing Pierre : “ You are right,” 
she said. “ Go, both of you, and endeavor to do for my 
brother what you have so well done for me. Your suc- 
cess can not make me more grateful, but it will add to my 
happiness.” Then, taking the hand of him whom she 
loved, she led him to her mother. Mme. de Vignes 
opened her arms to the prodigal son, and together with 
her kiss Pierre felt that he was receiving absolution for 
all his sins. 




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VIL 


There was high carnival that morning at Cl^mence’s, 
where a great breakfast was going on. It was the com- 
mencement of race-week, and there had been a great in- 
flux of people from Paris the day before whom Jacques 
and his pretty mistress had met that evening at the 
Casino and invited to their house. They were the very 
cream of the cream of the gay world, the gentlemen the 
elect of the most stylish and pleasure-loving set and the 
women selected from among the number of the brightest 
and most seductive of their sisterhood. The men all 
bore names that were illustrious in art, finance and politics ; 
the ladies were among the most renowned of the leaders 
of the battalion of Cythera. There were Prince Patrizzi, 
Duverney, the great artist of the nude, still preserving the 
gayety of the days when he was a painter’s apprentice, 
little Baron Tr^sorier the stock-broker, reputed to be one 
of the best swordsmen of the fencing-schools of Paris, ✓ 
Berneville, a sporting man, who rides like a professional 
jockey and has broken his collar-bone seven times over the 
hurdles, the due de Faucigny, the youngest deputy of the 
Chamber, a red-hot legitimist and who created such a 
sensation by his adhesion to Don Carlos, Burat, the ac- 
credited lawyer of the theatres, the sharpest among all the 
sharp tongues of the lawyers who frequent the Palais, an 
assiduous attendant of first nights and a passionate collec- 
tor of pictures, and finally Selim Nufio, who was there to 
watch the running of his mare Mandragora in the handi- 

219 


220 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


cap sweepstakes, concealing his anxiety as a breeder under 
a mask of affected liveliness. 

The women were Andr^e de Taillebourg, Mariette de 
Fontenoy, Laure d’ Evreux and Sophie Viroflay, all bear- 
ing names borrowed from the most glorious battle-fields of 
French history or from the best known of the stations in 
the railway guides. All of them, men and v/omen, it is 
unnecessary to say, were jolly and generous, pretty and 
dressed to kill. 

The ball was to be kept rolling all day long. Breakfast 
with Clemence in the morning, after which Nufio’s four- 
in-hand was to convey the whole party to the races, then 
everybody would go home to freshen up their toilette a 
little and at half-past seven they would reassemble at the 
Roches-Noires, where Baron Tr^sorier would give the joy- 
ous band a good dinner. Then to the Casino, the whole 
company, for a few turns of the waltz. What was to 
come after that was an unknown quantity, and this was 
likely to occupy an important space in the programme 
with these men who exhibited so much inventive genius 
in their pleasures and these women who yielded so read- 
ily to caprice. 

My children,” said Duverney, we are about to com- 
mence the day together, and we will end it in the same 
way. Only it is not ‘certain that the women won’t change 
cavaliers, as they do in the figure of the quadrille! ” 

“Tell me, you impolite man,” cried Laure d’Evreux, 
“why do you accord the privilege of unfaithfulness to 
women ?” 

“ Because it is a professional necessity with them !” 

“Great heavens! You don’t mean to insinuate that 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


221 


they are venal?” interjected Faucigny with a scandalized 
air. 

“ There are men who say as much ! ” replied Tr^sorier. 

That must be because settling-day has had a bad ef- 
fect on their nerves,” Cl^mence said with a laugh. 

Every eye was instantly directed upon Jacques, who 
was walking in the garden engaged in conversation with 
Patrizzi. There was so much meaning in the movement 
that Cl^mence made a gesture of denial. No, no,” she 
said, “ I am not speaking of Jacques. He has made quite 
a specialty of breaking the' bank at the club for the past 
two days. Yesterday he brought home three thousand 
louis in his pocket. He is having a run of luck; he says 
that everything is bound to succeed with him.” Here she 
turned to Nufio, who was buried in an easy-chair, and 
mischievously added : “And so he is offering ten to one 
on the field against Mandragora to all takers.” 

Nufio’s face was purple with wrath as he struggled to 
his feet. “ I will take more of that than he will feel like 
giving,” he cried. “ My mare is a sure winner.” 

“But are you sure of your jockey?” asked Berneville. 
“ You know that Chapwal pulled La Bonnerie’s horse at 
Caen the other day ?” 

“ That don’t trouble me. Petersen can’t make so much 
by losing the race as I shall pay him if I win.” 

“ But your promises to Petersen, my poor Nufio,” said 
Andr^e de Taillebourg, “ won’t give legs to Mandragora.” 

“ The mare is in first-rate condition,” rejoined the 
banker. 

“ Otiich! I wouldn’t put a pinch of snuff on her !” 

“ I will back her even against the field !” the big man 
angrily exclaimed. 


222 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


“Nufio, you will make yourself sick,” said Sophie Viro- 
flay. “ It is exceedingly imprudent to let your anger get 
the better of you before breakfast.” 

It is just as bad as being too loving after breakfast,” 
put in Mariette de Fontenoy. 

“Trust to the experience of these ladies,” said Burat, 
“and beware of apoplexy with your dessert !” 

“ If you die before your time,” the pretty blonde re- 
joined, “it will surely be because you have bitten your 
own tongue and the venom has penetrated your sys 
tern.” 

“ Oh ! Fontenoy, you are not so generous as our an- 
cestors were at the battle that bears your name ; you 
do not say. Gentlemen, fire first.” 

“ I never say that until after midnight.” 

“ But then, what a nice way you have of saying it !” 

“ You don’t know anything about it, any way !” 

“ But I have been told.” 

“ By whom, pray?” 

“ Pardi ! by all the world !” 

“ Insolent !” 

Mariette, amid the laughter of the applauding com- 
pany, threw herself upon the lawyer, and laughing and 
scolding at the same time, her face blazing, gave him a 
sound beating with her fan, her gold bracelets rattling at 
every stroke. He ran through the apartment, shielding 
his head with his hands as well as he could, pursued by his 
fair enemy, whose dress of pink cambric trimmed with 
Valenciennes, fluttering in the ardor of the chase, offered 
glimpses of two little feet in gold slippers and a pair of 
well-turned ankles in open-work stockings. She stopped, 
breathless, in front of Burat, who had thrown himself 



“Yes, my dear, and I will have it decorated with 
paintings of orange flowers.” 

“ So you are going to begin it again ?” 

‘‘ Come, come ! be quiet,” Clemence interrupted. 
“ Breakfast is nearly ready.” 

Jacques and Patrizzi came in. The air was of a deli- 
cious temperature and the roses in the garden were giving 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 223 


Upon his knees in token of submission, and showing him 
her ruined fan, said : “ You will buy me another one to 
pay for this.” 


224 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 

forth their sweetest perfume. The doors of the dining- 
room were thrown open, and the butler, white-cravated 
and solemn as if he had been on duty before an assem- 
blage of duchesses, announced:. 

“ Madame is served.” 

Clemence took Faucigny’s arm, Jacques offered his to 
Sophie Viroflay, and the procession of men and women 
left the drawing room. 

The dining-room, a magnificent apartment with hang- 
ings of Chinese silk and furniture of carved iron-wood, 
opened on the one side upon the conservatory and on the 
other upon the gardens. Three wide bay-windows, 
filled with painted glass picturing odd flowers and fantas- 
tic birds, gave access to a terrace, in the centre of which 
a monumental flight of steps descended toward the lawn 
and its ornamental flower-beds. These three windows, 
which were left wide open that morning, allowed the 
light and air to enter the room in floods. The turf of 
the garden was of an emerald green, and the sand of the 
pathways, shining white in the sunlight, reflected the 
gentle warmth. In the distance the blue of the sky was 
shaded with tints of violet. Outside all was silence, 
warmth and joy. Clemence’s guests, unconsciously im- 
bued with these delightful influences, yielded themselves 
to the joy that nature was exhaling from her inanimate 
objects. Heads grew hot, nerves were more tightly 
strung and the gayety began to change to riot. 

Amid all this tumultuous merriment Jacques alone 
remained serious, as if there were some secret remorse 
gnawing at his heart. Freed for the time being from 
his pecuniary necessities, he was thinking of those whom 
he had wronged so grievously in order to procure 


IVIIAT PIERRE DID WITH II IS SOUL. 225 

himself his last resources. Seated among his bright 
and laughing guests, surrounded by beautiful and se- 
ductive women, he was possessed by the gloomiest re- 
flections. He cast a look upon the brilliant table, 
loaded with flowers, silver and crystal; he glanced at 
those who were seated by it, and he beheld them careless 
and happy. He alone was consuming with the bitterness 
of an ill-spent life. All the others were free of mind and 
heart; he listened to their laughter and gay talk; every 
day it was thus for them, every day the same fete, the 
same enjoyment. Every day for him, likewise, the same 
unending torture, the same anguish that he could do 
nothing to appease. 

His eyes were attracted to CMmence and Faucigny, 
who were conversing in low tones directly opposite to 
him. He could not distinguish their words, but he 
divined their meaning. The duke, persuasive and insin- 
uating, was making love to the pretty girl, and she was 
listening to him with a smiling face. He well knew what 
that smile portended; it would be with Faucigny as it 
had been with so many others. Jacques’ face contracted 
with a spasm of anguish. One after another he drained 
several glasses of wine of different kinds, and a red flush 
mounted to his cheeks. A wave of anger swept through 
his mind ; he thought : “ I am surly, that is the reason 

why Clemence turns from me. Is it not right that she 
should be the instrument to punish me, for whose sake I 
have committed so many infamous actions ?” 

He heard some one calling him. It was Patrizzi, 
shouting to him from the other end of the table : “ Say, 
Jacques, does not this breakfast remind you of our 
dinner at Monte Carlo? Some of these gentlemen, and 


226 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


almost all these ladies, were there. We were not so 
gay that night, though, as we are to-day. . . .And what dia- 
bolical stories! Do you remember them?” 

“ How is it that that Russian doctor who is travelling 
with Woreseff is not here?” inquired Andr^e de Taille- 
bourg. 

“ He has been in Paris for the last five days,” Patrizzi 
replied. 

At these words Jacques saw Juliette’s pale, sad face 
arise before him. She was sitting in the drawing-room 
where he had passed so many evenings while he was still 
an obedient son and a loving brother. Mme. de Vignes 
was bending anxiously over her daughter, and Davidoff 
stood near, regarding them both with an expression of 
compassion on his face. It seemed to the young man that 
his mother had uttered his name and that the doctor had 
answered with a sorrowful nod of the head. Was it not his 
place to have been at the side of those two women ? Why 
was this stranger consoling his mother and his sister ? A 
low voice murmured in his ear: “It is because you re- 
fused to do your duty, because you preferred the gaming- 
table to your mother, a mistress to your sister, because 
you are a scoundrel and an ingrate !” 

He burst into a fit of frightful, inexplicable laughter, 
that drew upon him the attention of all the company. 
They beheld him pale as death, his lips drawn in a ghastly 
smile, his eyes glittering. 

“Yes, yes!” he cried, regardless of their amazement, 
“ the dinner at Monte Carlo was not so gay as our break- 
fast this morning. I was at the point of death, in the first 
place, and to-day I am well and strong. Oh yes ! well 
and strong, thanks to Davidoff, who gave us an admirable 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


227 


lecture on the transmission of souls. You haven’t for- 
gotten it, Patrizzi ? . . . nor you, Tresorier ? He told us a 

story about a young Russian girl Oh, such a jolly 

good story ! . . . and what a chap to mystify one that 
Davidoff is! Not one of us took his story in earnest— 
not even you, Patrizzi, who are a Neapolitan and conse- 
quently superstitious. You believe in the evil-eye, don’t 
you, Prince ?” 

“ Do not make light of those things,” said Patrizzi, who 
suddenly became grave and made a rapid sign behind his 
back with two fingers of his left hand. 

“Ah! ah! ah!” sneered Jacques, “did you see what 
the Prince did? He conjured away his bad luck ; he be- 
lieves in the jettatura. And yet he did not put any faith 

in Davidoff’s demonstrations No one believed in them, 

. . . not a soul . . . excepting Pierre Laurier. . . . But then 
everybody knows that tne poor fellow had gone mad !” 

These strange words were succeeded by a silence as of 
death ; the blood of every one present ran cold in his 
veins. It seemed to them as if the ghost of him whom 
they had known and esteemed and loved must arise and 
appear before them. The men glanced at one another 
doubtfully, not knowing what to think of this sudden 
frenzy that had thrown a pall over their banquet, which 
had had such a joyous beginning, while the women, un- 
aware of what was going on, commenced to laugh. Cle- 
mence bit her pale lips with anger and rapped sharply 
upon the table with her knife, and her crystal wine-glass 
fell broken to the floor, with a silvery sound. 

“ A glass broken !” exclaimed Laure d’Evreux, “ that’s 
a sign of bad luck !” 

“ This is perfectly ridiculous, Jacques,” Cl^mence cried 


228 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

in a voice that shook with anger. “ Did our friends come 
here to listen to such follies ?” 

“ Friend Jacques is drunk !” exclaimed Sophie Vir- 
oflay. “ It is only half-past twelve — rather early in the 
day for that !” 

“ I am not drunk!” screamed the young man, whose 
.'ace assumed a frightful expression. “ I was never more 
sober in my life I ... I said to you that Laurier was mad. 
Is there one of you who doubts it ? Is there a single one 
among you all who witnessed how he spent his last 
months of life, who were spectators of his torments, his 
despair, his moral agony — is there a single one who can 
look me in the face and say that I do not tell the truth ? 
You are silent! Even Clemence has nothing to say... 
and the reason is that she knows very well that Laurier 
was mad and why he was mad !” 

The face of the actress “who was apostrophized in this 
manner took on a yellowish tinge, as if the blood in her 
veins had been converted into gall, jthe cords of her neck 
became tense and swollen, and with a voice that hissed 
with rage she screamed: “You make us regret him! I 
wish that he were in your place and you in his!” 

“ Have patience! I shall soon be there,” said Jacques 
with a frightful smile, “ for I am leading the same infer- 
nal life that ended in suicide in his case. I know what 
his sufferings were, for I am passing through them, and I 
can understand how it was that he could not endure, 
them for long. We were just now speaking of Doctor 
Davidoff and recalling the strange stories that he told us 
one fine night. You remember, Patrizzi, how Laurier, 
after listening to them in silence, suddenly broke out and 
said: ‘Jacques, if ever I become tired of life, I will be- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 229 

queath my soul to you.’ Yes, I know you have not forgot- 
ten it. . . . Well; before that very same night had passed 
over our heads he was dead, and I, who was at the last 
gasp, was returning to health. A few days after that, 
Prince, you met me at Nice at the masked ball and said to 
me in jest : ‘ So you have got a brand-new soul, that of 
your friend Laurier? ’ You did not know how truly you 
were speaking : that soul was then inhabiting my body. I 
could feel it burning within me, with all its passions, those 
same passions that had brought ruin and destruction to 
wretched Pierre. The mad desire of unbounded pleasure, 
an unreasoning passion, the intoxication of gambling for 
unlimited stakes seized me and consumed me in their 
feverish attractions. . . . Then a woman came into my life, 
drawing me to her, fatally, invincibly. She could not 
but attract me, for I bore within me Pierre’s soul, still 
filled with the desire of her who was at my side, tempting 

and alluring me Oh ! I had a glimmer of reason ; at 

that moment I caught a glimpse of what my destiny 
must be and I endeavored to resist, but the sorceress of 
love held me firmly down and I was no longer myself. 
All my nature arose in ferment and dragged me toward 
her. I obeyed her as a dog obeys his master. She had 
but to raise her finger and I ran to her, after having 
sworn that I would return to her no more. Thus little 
by little did I descend the slope that conducted Pierre 
Laurier to destruction ; like him I gambled because I 
had to have money, money without end, like him I was 
oblivious of everything except the perverted creature who 
was the object of my adoration. He made sacrifice of 
his talent and his reputation. I was wanting to my 
dearest affections. I robbed my mother, abandoned my 


230 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

sister. He was dastard and abject, so was I! He sub- 
mitted to the faithlessness of his mistress and gave the 

hand of friendship to his rivals At this very moment, 

all of you who are seated about this table, every one of 
you who are now listening to my words, either have 
been or are the lovers of the woman whom I call mine. 
Yes, you, Nufio, who have been deceived and have re- 
venged yourself by deceiving your successors ; you, Burat, 
who have defended the suits that her clamorous trades- 
men have brought against her; you, Tr^sorier, who have 
caused to multiply manifold by judicious investment the 
sums paid her by Berneville and Patrizzi ; . . . and you 
Duverney, the clown whose duty it was to divert the fair 
one in her melancholy moods, and finally you, Faucigny, 
the last to win her favor. Well, my friends, do you be- 
lieve now that I am sober and that I know what I am 
talking about ?” 

He had risen to his feet and was standing erect. His 
lips were fringed with a slight froth, his hands trembled 
and his laugh was harsh and forced. He held forth his 
goblet full of champagne and said : “ I am your host .... 
I drink to you all, lovers of my mistress ! And I drink to 
the absent ... to Pierre Laurier !” 

He raised the glass to his lips, but did not drink. His 
look, directed toward the terrace, became staring and ex- 
pressed the deepest horror ; he uttered a hoarse cry and 
recoiled a step. He had perceived him whose name he 
had invoked, Pierre Laurier, ascending the steps of the 
terrace in company with Davidoff. Stupefied, breathless, 
the moisture standing in great drops upon his forehead, 
he watched him with devouring eyes as he came for- 
ward. 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


231 


When the two men came within the door-way and 
stopped he made a wild gesture, as if to exorcise some 
terrible apparition, raised his hand to his throat like a man 



who feels himself strangling, and cried in hollow tones : 
“ Pierre, Pierre, what would you have? You know that 
there is not room for us two upon the earth ... if you 
live, I must die !” 

“ Jacques !” exclaimed Laurier, approaching him with 
outstretched hands. 


232 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

The latter made an effort to repulse him, but he sud- 
denly turned deathly pale and with a frightful rattling in 
his throat fell back lifeless into his friend’s arms. 

“He is dead!” said Berneville. “We must send 
for...” 

“ Let no one stir,” said Davidoff. “ He is not dead and 
there is no need of sending for any one.” 

He poured some water in a glass and sprinkled the 
wretched man’s temples with it ; he heaved a deep 
sigh. 

His friends had risen and grouped themselves tumultu- 
ously about him ; Clemence was the first to recover her 
self-possession. “ What do you propose to do ?” she 
asked Davidoff. 

“ I propose to remove M. de Vignes,” said the Rus- 
sian. 

Pierre came forward a step, and placing himself in front 
of Clemence: “ Do you intend to offer any opposition?” 
he coldly asked. 

The woman tried to carry it off with an assumption of 
boldness ; she raised her eyes to the face of him who had 
questioned her. He met her look calmly ; his counte- 
nance was contemptuously indifferent, but bore an expres- 
sion of melancholy. He was again the Pierre Laurier of 
the days of their early love, with his proud, inspired face, 
his manly bearing and a gentle sadness in his voice that 
moved Clemence to the depths of her soul. She would 
have chosen to address him with her habitual insolence, 
but a sudden feeling of humility conquered her and soft- 
ened her heart. She gave the young man a timid smile 
and approaching, said : “ Is it prudent to take him away 
in the condition that he is in ? Come with me ; I will give 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


233 



you a room where he can be cared for in perfect quiet- 
ness.” 

“ It is useless,” replied Pierre. None of us will remain 
in your house a single rnoment longer.” 

“ Why?” said Cl^mence. “ Are we not friends?” 


Laurier pointed to Jacques, painfully gasping for breath 
in Davidoff’s arms, and his answer was gentle, but im- 
movably firm : “ I have forgiven you the wrong that you 
did me ; I will never forgive you the evil that you have 
inflicted on him. Adieu.” 


234 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


Davidoff and Pierre raised Jacques, who had not re- 
gained consciousness, and carried him as if he had been a 
little child through the garden to the carriage that had 



brought them from the station. They were scarcely out 
of sight when the constraint that had fallen upon the as- 
semblage vanished. 

“Ah! my children,” Burat exclaimed, “ what an end- 
ing for a breakfast !” 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


235 


“ I am glad that they took him away,” said Mariette de 
Fontenoy, “ he was getting tiresome ! I can’t endure 
people who make scenes at table !” 

It seems to me, do you know, Cl^mence,” said Du- 
verney, “that the men who kill themselves for love of you 
make pretty lively corpses !” 

Clemence had been silent for a while, reflecting, with 
head bent upon her breast. She suddenly aroused her- 
self and looking at her guests, exclaimed : “ Well ! you 
may say what you choose about Pierre Laurier, but I tell 
you that there is not one among the whole pack of you 
that can begin to hold a candle to that man!... Come, 
it is nearly two o’clock. Let us go to the track and see 
Selim’s horse come in a good last !”’ 

****** 

Pierre and Juliette had been married three months, and 
the young woman had recovered her health and beauty. 
Pierre was overrun with orders, and worked as long as 
day-light lasted and passed all his evenings at home with 
his mother and brother-in-law. Jacques was sinking, 
slowly but surely, to the grave. He was entirely cured of 
his dangerous madness and had again become the gentle 
and affectionate son and brother that he was of old. It 
seemed to be his heartfelt desire to make those who were 
about him forget the sufferings that he had inflicted on 
them, and not once since that day when his friends had 
brought him home to his mother had he been heard to 
give utterance to a complaint. It was as if he were wel- 
coming pain and death as an atonement for his sins. 

He was much wasted, his eyes were sunken, and his 
hair nearly white ; there remained scarcely a trace of the 


236 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


good looks that had turned so many heads. The young 
man was grown prematurely old. He hardly ever left 



his easy-chair ; his legs covered with a plaid, he would 
sit for hours dreamily reflecting by the window, watchincr 
with a listless air the people hurrying along the street^ 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 237 

He would not even ride out with his mother to get a 
breath of fresh air in the Bois. He would answer her in- 
vitation with a smile and say: “One must have a little 



pride and not show himself so weak and miserable to those 
who knew him when he was young and strong. Go, dear 
mother, without me ; you can tell me what you see, and 




238 WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 

in that way I shall have the pleasure without the fa- 
tigue.” 

His sad face was never brightened by a gleam of joy 
except when his sister came to see him. He could not 
do without her, and excused himself for taking her so 
selfishly away from her husband: He can afford to for- 
give me ; there is so little time left me to see you, while 
he has all a lifetime.” 

One day he said to her : “ Do you remember the ter- 
race at Beaulieu, Juliette, and the conversation that we 
had there?” 

The young woman shuddered at the horror of this re- 
membrance. She would have interrupted her brother 
and prevented him from calling up the memory of those 
mournful days, but he showed unwonted energy and car- 
ried his point. 

The remorse that I feel is so bitter, you see, that I 
must free my mind. I think of it all night long as I lie 
in bed, unable to sleep. It is a poison that is slowly eat- 
ing away my heart. You were so innocent and gentle, 
and I did you such a fearful wrong. . . . Oh ! I shall never 
rest until I know that I have your pardon !” 

But what have you to reproach yourself with, my poor 
brother? We had the same griefs to bear in common, 
and we shed our tears together.” 

“ No, our griefs were not in common,” said Jacques in a 
low voice, “ for my sorrow was hypocritical. I believed that 
I was living Pierre’s life, and I did not regret his death. 
It is a horrible thing that I am telling you, but the truth 
must be revealed. I felt certain that your sorrow would 
cost you your life, and all that I felt was a concealed irri- 
tation at that sorrow, which seemed to me to be a reflec- 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 239 

tion upon my joy. Yes, I was such a monster that I 
welcomed the thought that Pierre was dead and that you 
also would die. What was all this affliction and death to 
me, compared with the certainty of my renewed exist- 
ence? That was the question that I dared ask myself. 
Truly man is nothing but a miserable, abject brute !” His 
cheeks were blazing and he struggled for breath as he 
proceeded. “ So, between your life and mine, I did not 
hesitate ; I was ready to sacrifice yours, and in place of 
mourning for the friend who was gone, I rejoiced that I 
had survived in his place I had an attack of mad- 

ness in those days, my dear sister. . . . Davidoff, in order 
to effect my cure, had recourse to a fearful experiment ; 
he wished to ascertain the power of mind over matter, of 
the will over the body; he endeavored to produce mate- 
rial results through the action of my confidence. Unfor- 
tunately, alas ! his trial was made upon a weak mind, an 
impressionable imagination ; it was only too successful. 
Like the miracle-workers of other days who used to con- 
vert the multitude into fanatics, he said to me: ‘You are 
healed ; you have a new life within you ; live, therefore,’ 
and my need of believing was so great that I believed. 
But how my mind was deteriorated, how my character 
was debased by that belief ! I had been kind and gentle ; 
I became hard and selfish . . . and in order to forget, to 
silence the voice of conscience, I threw myself headlong 
into debauchery, I abandoned myself to vice. The meta- 
morphosis was so great that it seemed to me that I must 
be leading a dual existence ; there was within me a phys- 
ical being which acted in obedience to the impulses of a 
raging madness and an intelligent, sane being, that la- 
mented these excesses and protested against them. For 


240 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL. 


nearly a year I lived the life of a criminal who bears 
within himself the consciousness of his crimes and accuses 
and convicts himself even as he perpetrated them. Such 
was existence for me . . . and to lengthen out my days 
in this hell it seemed right and natural that Laurier 
should have departed for eternity and that you should go 
to join him there. But a just God has interposed, and 
Pierre and you will live, and it will be I who shall die.” 

Jacques!” interrupted the young woman, bending 
over her brother’s hand, which she moistened with her 
tears. 

The death-stricken man regained his breath with an 
effort and said, with the solemnity of one making a last 
request : “ Tell me that you forgive me, and that when I 
shall be with you no longer you will retain a little pity 
and tenderness for my memory.” 

“ Oh ! yes, I forgive you, since you require me to utter 
those useless words, and I claim no merit for them, for I 
love you.” 

Jacques smiled fajntly. ‘‘There can be no doubt,” he 
said, “that women are better than we.” 

“But you will not die, dear Jacques.” 

He shook his head, and with a thought of his wasted 
youth and ruined health, made answer : “ What is the 
use?” Then his expression changed, and he added 
with tender cheerfulness: “Besides, it is no longer possi- 
ble, for you, now, have Pierre’s soul.” 

Six weeks later, just as autumn was ending and the 
trees were losing their last leaves, the entire family took 
their departure for the south. They again beheld with 
mournful pleasure the villa of Beaulieu, the forests of 
pines, thujas and junipers and the bay with its reefs of 


WHAT PIERRE DID WITH HIS SOUL, 


241 



red rocks upon which the waves broke with gentle mur- 
murs. Jacques at first appeared to rally in the animating 
sunshine, but he soon declined again to his former state 


of gloomy weakness, and one night, surrounded- by all 
those to whom he was dear, he peacefully passed away. 

He sleeps upon the hill-side in the shade of the orange 
trees, lulled by the whispering of the perfumed breeze, 
and on the stone above his grave are these words : 

Jacques de Vignes. 

God has taken to Himself his poor suffering soul. 


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